


Stay To Remember

by mikke



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Memory Loss, Rimming, Smut, it's not v angsty though, past zouis, they make it work though they always do, versatile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 51,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikke/pseuds/mikke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to keep walking, doesn't want to stop for even a second. Every second passing  feels like a second he has missed, a second he hasn't used wisely for the one day he has as his current self. Not that it matters anyway, but it's one second closer to falling asleep, to forgetting everything again. One second closer to waking up the next morning, to the panic as he finds himself in an unfamiliar room, and one second closer to having to learn everything about his life again. One second too much. </p><p>Or the one in which Louis suffered from brain trauma, causing him to lose his short-term memory every morning. Featuring Niall as the one who stays, Liam as the one who understands, Zayn as the one who leaves, and Harry as the only one Louis really, really needs to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is fiction. Please treat it as such.  
> Inspired by the film Remember Sunday. 
> 
> Also a massive thanks to Isi for reading this before anybody else, you're the best xxxx

 

Anhalten  
will ich  
für einen  
Augenblick  
nur  
  
Zurückschauen  
in die  
Täler und  
Weiten  
gegangener  
Wege  
  
In  
den  
verwehten  
Spuren  
mich finden  
  
Mit  
dem  
Herzschlag  
von  
gestern

\- manfred poisel “anhalten will ich”

 

 

 

 

**One**

  
  


Morning light wakes Louis as the first rays of sunshine peek through the loose curtains covering the window, a light summer breeze causing them to flutter in the wind.

As Louis rolls over, relishing in the warmth of his blanket and the fresh air around his nose, slowly blinking awake, it feels like every other normal day. Like a cup of tea and some egg on toast, university later and probably some studying late at night.

It's the first seconds of bliss every morning, the first seconds before his mattress becomes too soft, and the blanket unfamiliar to the touch. It's the first seconds before he really opens his eyes, and confusion starts to wash over him.

Because this is not the small room of his university dorm, the bed the same as the windows letting the early sunlight in are too big, no schoolwork is scattered on the bedroom floor and really, Louis has no idea where he is.

His eyes catch the bedside table in this unfamiliar room. A thick envelope draws his attention, the words _Read Me_ in his own handwriting leaving him curious. It's only when he opens it to look through the pages, that he is left in silence.

Or that's what it feels like, at least. Maybe silence isn't quite the right word for Louis to describe what he really feels, what with his thoughts doing backflips in his brain, crashing each other over and loosing themselves as Louis tries to make sense of them.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed, and his naked feet catch the wooden floor underneath. His body feels tired but his mind is wide awake as he taps towards the open bathroom door.

Louis opens the tab, and cold water runs over his hands. The temperature feels sharp on Louis' skin, but it's real. A real sensation, not a dream. Not a dream.

Only then he dares himself to raise his head, his eyes catching his own in the mirror as he stares back at himself.

Or what he thinks must be himself, that is.

Because the man staring back at him looks different. Light scruff lines his chin, his cheekbones are prominent and his hair doesn't fall into his face in a fringe. The boyish features Louis has learned to recognise as his own are gone, everything Louis has become familiar with isn't there any more.

A stranger is staring back at him.

 _Breathe._ A bright yellow stickynote in the top right corner of the mirror brings Louis attention back to the basics. Right. Breathe in. Breathe Out. Repeat.

 _It's okay, I promise you it's okay._ Another note just underneath the other reads. _Focus on your eyes._

Louis shifts his gaze to directly look into the mirror again, this time prepared for what he is about to see. His brain shuts down for a second as he catches the strangers eyes again, and he has to take a few seconds before he opens his eyes again. He follows the instructions of the note, and keeps his attention focused on the eyes in front of him. They are his, his own eyes, blue-y green-y blue staring back at him.

As he lets his gaze wander over the strangers face, more and more details come back to him. His small nose, the curve of his eyebrows, his thin lips and the small mole on his forehead. The picture of the stranger in front of him shifts, until Louis sees more of a brother.

The older brother he never had, or actually, an older version of himself. The envelope comes back to his mind. Right, twenty-three, not nineteen.

Still barefoot he walks back into the bedroom, and sits himself down with the envelope one more time. It's surreal, how the life he has known seems to have disappeared as he looks through the rooms of a flat he does not know, takes a glance on the road through the windows he does not recognise, with a stack of paper in his hands that are supposed to be explaining but really, confuse the hell out of Louis as he reads over them a second time.

 _Call me_ , the end of the page says, right next to a number Louis is happy to recognise without a second thought.

He types them into his phone quickly, and waits for the other end to pick up.

“Hey Louis, love,” his mother voice greets him, familiar, so wonderfully familiar.

“Mum,” Louis starts, but no other word comes out. His brain is filled to the brim with questions and he doesn't know where to start, doesn't know how to comprehend the wall of information he read and is still trying to understand.

“Are you alright, love?” his mother asks. “Have you read the file?”

“I have, yeah,” Louis says. His own voice seems distant through the cloud of thoughts swirling through his brain. “But I don't understand.”

His mother's voice is stern but loving as she speaks. “Four years ago, you were nineteen, you suffered from a brain injury. Your hippocampus got damaged, and instead of turning your memories into something to keep when you sleep like it is supposed to do, you forget every new thing you learned that day. It's called Anterograde Amnesia. That's why you wake up in the morning thinking you're nineteen and at university.”

Louis' breath shudders as he tries to fill his lungs. Everything his mother just said is written in the file in his hands, he read through all of it already twice this morning, but the concept seems too hard for him to grasp. There is no yesterday in his memory, not even a last week or last year, time is lost for Louis as he tries to remember, something, anything.

But there is no memory for him to grab, he remembers university like yesterday but he _knows_ it isn't, it feels present but still so far away at the same time.

There's just a hole where yesterday should be.

Louis' voice is shaky. “Do I call you every day?” he asks.

“Every day,” his mother replies. “But I don't care, I am always here to help you, do you understand me?” And really, Louis can't hear even the tiniest bit of annoyance in her voice. He hums in agreement.

“Okay, love. There is another file on the kitchen table, go make yourself some tea and read through it, alright? And call me whenever you need me.”

Louis voices his agreement one more time. “Thank you, mum,” he says. “For all of this.”

“That's alright, poppet. I love you, and I speak to you later, okay?”

“Love you, too, mum,” Louis says, before ending the call. His mind is still running a mile a second but with his mother's voice in the back of his mind, he makes himself get up one more time and walks through the door next to the bathroom into what he assumes to be the hallway, and makes out the kitchen from there.

It's a small kitchen, counters and an oven lining one side of the wall, a fridge and a table with two chairs the other. Dozens of photographs are pinned to the fridge door, and Louis makes out some familiar faces. There is his mother, and his sisters, looking older than he remembers them, he spots his own face, the older version of him and what he assumes to be Niall and Stan, both having changed as well.

Louis averts his gaze as he opens the fridge for some milk, and turns around to prepare the rest of his tea.

More sticky-notes line the kitchen, bright colours building a contrast to the otherwise white furniture. _Plates and bowls_ one of them reads, _flour, sugar, etc._ another. But the one that interests Louis most is the one that says _Tea!!!_ on a metal-y container, and as he manages to produce a big tea pot from the cupboard on his left and fills the kettle to the brim with water, he almost feels proud of himself.

He looks through his quite enormous collection of mugs and decides on a simple green one, but only as he sits down at the kitchen table with his freshly brewed cup of tea, he brings himself to open the big envelope his mother was talking about earlier.

He is greeted with pictures of people he knows, and people he can't remember to have ever met in his entire life.

There's his mother, looking thankfully the same as Louis remembers her, and there are his sisters Lottie and Fizzy, and Louis' breath gets caught in his throat. Lottie is supposed to turn thirteen in two months, but the girl laughing back at Louis looks more like a young woman, perfectly applied make-up accentuating her eyes. And Fizzy, litte ten year old Fizzy looks nothing like Louis remembers her, her chubby face looking almost elegant, and definetely more mature than Louis would like her to look.

His eyes are fixed on the picture of his sisters for a while before he turns the photograph around. _Lottie and Fizzy_ , it reads, _April 2015, 16 and 14_.

The next picture he picks up shows his other sisters, Phoebe and Daisy, and once again Louis needs a few seconds to believe what he sees. _Phoebe and Daisy, April 2015, 11_ , the text on the back of the photo reads. Right, they're not seven anymore.

But what hurts Louis the most is when he takes the next picture into his hands, showing three people he's never seen before. He turns it around, and is met with a text that fills almost all of the space, and he has to take a deep breath after he has read the first words. _Dan, Ernest and Doris. Dan is mum's new husband, he is really nice, you like him. Ernest and Doris are your siblings, born 10 th of February 2014, this is them in April 2015. _

Louis swallows around the lump in his throat. His mum got married again, he's got two more siblings and he doesn't remember ever seeing them before. If it weren't for this picture they wouldn't exist in his life at all.

There are more pictures, some showing his neighbours with a few trivia facts about them – _Lydia, 50, really lovely, you'll get cake and tea if you visit her; Preston, 45, he's a dick, try to be friendly but don't expect anything from him; Nina, 24, cries a lot 'cause her boyfriend's an arse, invite her for tea maybe –_ and a more detailed description of what is apparently Louis' life.

Half an hour later Louis feels a bit like a secret agent who just learned his cover story – or something along the lines of that.

As he has found out he works five days a week for a garden center – really gardening? He has absolutely no clue about gardening whatsoever, he's kinda surprised that this apparently works out – he is single, still lives in London and is thankfully quite familiar with his neighbourhood, and after reading a bit about his last few days Louis realises his life is actually boring as fuck.

Little notes like diary entries from the past two weeks are tacked right into the end of the file, little description of the day like _coffee and breakfast at café Julies, work with Liam and talked to Stan, visited mum's, Doris and Ernest are really cute and the girls have grown up so much!_ .

It burns in Louis' eyes as he flicks through his life, knows that he should remember those things because he lived them, because there are pictures documenting him seeing his siblings, but there is nothing, nothing that seems familiar to Louis.

It's a stranger with his face laughing with his oldest sister, a stranger with his face kicking a football around the garden with Daisy and a stranger with his face holding his little brother's hand as he takes wobbly steps through the living room.

Louis flicks to the last page, his own handwriting once again drawing his attention. _It's alright, it is alright today and it will be when you read this, it always turns out to be alright. Go on with your day. Don't worry._

Louis isn't quite sure he likes his past-self, really, what a pretentious twat to tell him it will all be alright when Louis feels like his life isn't his life at all. Past-Louis can go fuck himself.

He's right in one point, though. There is not much else Louis can do except going on with his day, hoping, only hoping, that everything will come together as he goes on. It's one step at a time, making the best of what he has. Seize the day and all that, Carpe diem, haha, yes but no thanks.

But it's the only thing Louis can do as he fills his cup up with more tea and waits for it to reach the perfect temperature.

He'll go out today, he thinks. The weather outside seems nice and friendly, and – as his phone tells him – it's Sunday and there is nothing in his notes telling him he has anything planned for today. So it's a walk outside for him, he thinks, as he carefully takes a sip from his mug, a walk and maybe some real breakfast in a café he finds on the way.

He takes his thoughts to the shower with him, but at least the hot water calms his jittering body down a bit, a weird sense of nervousness creeping up at him every time he lets himself focus on his thoughts. It's easier to just let them flow through his brain without caring too much, he is scared of what will happen if he actually lets all of the information he just learned sink in.

There's no point really, he thinks, there is no point in caring too much. He won't remember in the morning anyway, he'll have to start all over again. He shuts his brain off as his thoughts wander down that path a bit more, the path of _you only have today_.

Really. No point.

He manages to brush his teeth without throwing as much as a glance into the mirror, again scared of what he will see, and turns to find clothes for the day instead.

It's weird, how his clothing style has changed without him actually ever bringing up the desire to try something new, and he wonders just at which point in the last four years he has decided on giving up the bright red trousers and suspenders, and decided on skinny jeans and a mixture of band shirts and basic ones, the colour standing out most being black.

He squeezes himself into a pair of black skinny jeans and a simple, loose white top that shows of his collarbones, grabs a hoodie from the end of his bed – it still smells clean – and steps into a pair of vans at the door. He grabs his phone and what he assumes to be his keys, and is out of the flat as fast as he can be.

It's still early for a sunday morning – it can't be later than nine o'clock – and the street Louis finds himself in is mostly soulless. He takes a look at the building behind him, a five-story-house, white, fresh flowers on the balcony on the second floor, number thirty-two, and continues his walk down the street. He knows the area, it's close to his old highschool and he remembers the train station just around the corner, but that is not where he is headed.

He wants to keep walking, doesn't want to stop for even a second. Every second passing feels like a second he has missed, a second he hasn't used wisely for the one day he has as his current self. Not that it matters anyway, but it's one second closer to falling asleep, to forgetting everything again. One second closer to waking up the next morning, to the panic as he finds himself in an unfamiliar room, and one second closer to having to learn everything about his life again. One second too much.

He walks until his stomach starts to grumble at every bakery he passes, and he finally gives in. He opts for a smaller bakery at the end of the street, one with a little seating area and loads of baked goods lining the window. It's one of the very few independent ones, but it seems to hold up quite well, Louis thinks, as it is packed with customers.

A bell rings as he opens the door, and the smell of freshly baked bread and the scent of sugary sweetness fills Louis' lungs. The line of people waiting to order is long, but Louis doesn't mind. He feels comfortable for the first time this day.

He is not supposed to know this place, is not supposed to feel at home here. There is no one he needs to remember or someone he might have forgotten, for the first time today he is just a normal person waiting in line to get something to eat.

“Hello, what can I do for you,” a voice greets him when it is his turn at the counter. There are two people behind it taking orders from their customers, an eldery woman and a curly headed boy – or man, really – who looks at Louis expectingly.

“Uh,” Louis starts. He looks through the window of croissants and cupcakes and buns. “I'll have one of those croissants and a sandwich with cheese please,” he says.

“Sure, is that all?” the boy says, typing Louis' order into the checkout. “Do you want to eat here or take it with you?” he asks.

“I'll eat here I guess,” Louis says. “On a second guess, can you make me a coffee as well?” he asks, having spotted the coffee machine behind the other man.

He grins. “Coming right up,” he says, pressing a button on the machine behind him before placing both Louis' croissant and his sandwich on a plate. “That'll be 4,80, please,” he says.

Louis pulls a five pound note from his pocket, and receives his change, his food, and a cup of steaming coffee in return. “Thank you,” he says, and throws a look at the boy's nametag. “Harry,” he adds with a grin.

Harry nods back at him, a similar smile on his face, and turns his attention to the next customer. Louis takes his place on one of the few tables in the back, enjoying how the food fills his empty stomach with every bite.

He sits there for a while, sipping from his coffee, watching people come and go, different faces, different voices, different stories.

It's busy and crowded in the small shop this sunday morning, but everyone is relaxed, the earth seems to turn slower, time passes by like sticky syrup, slow and sweet, with laughter and friendly greetings and sugary sweets and warm bread for the family at home.

It brings a smile to Louis' face, the happiness of others radiating in the room and keeping Louis away from his own deep and dark thoughts, holding him above the water, saving him from drowning.

When he finally decides to leave, the last rest in his mug has gone cold. No customer is left in the shop and none of the employees is to be seen as Louis takes to leave.

The bell above the door rings when he opens it. He's halfway out the door when he hears a voice behind him.

“Have a nice day.” Louis turns around in the door to see the boy who served him looking back at him.

“You too,” he says with a smile, and he means it. It's not just a throw-away sentence, he really wishes this boy a nice day, one to remember, maybe. “Harry,” he adds, once again, and once again he is greeted with a warm smile that spreads over the boys face, ridiculous wide mouth tucked up in the corners.

The door falls shut behind Louis as he steps onto the pavement again, warm rays of sunshine on his face, and he turns to head home again, back into his weird, new life he so desperately wants to understand. Back into reality again.

Only when he is home again, spread out on his bed like a starfish with his head turned to the right, he spots the black notebook sitting on his bedside table. It's filled with what seems like random words, random sentences that don't seem to spark any recognition in Louis. He flicks to the front page.

_Write it all down. What you see, what you feel, who you meet. Not for tomorrow, but for today._

And Louis wants to write. Wants to write it all down, not particulary to remember it but to make sure it happened, that today happened and that today was real, a real day even if it will all be gone when the sun rises again.

So he writes. He writes about the warm sunshine, about walking and the people he passed, about his food, and the coffee, and the atmosphere, and Harry.

It's just random words really, words that won't make sense in the morning anymore. It's for him, it's for now. He flicks through the previous pages, reads over the words he has written days, weeks, months before, words that tell the story of his life. He does wonder what triggered past-Louis to draw the smiley face, or the heart, what made him write _happiness_ and _incredible_ , and _loved_.

It's him, he knows it's him and his life, but every words seems to be written by a stranger, a stranger with a different story, a different life.

He wonders if that stranger is happy.

Later that day, as Louis lies on the sofa, feet dangling over the arm of the sofa and head propped up on cushions, he figures that at least one good thing comes out of the whole memory-loss thing.

Earlier he found a DVD case on one of the shelfs in the living room, another sticky-note on it. _You love this one_ , it reads, and really, God knows how often he has actually watched this film before, but Louis' attention is fixed by every move the character makes, every single bit as unexpected as if he watches it for the first time.

Even if that is really not the case.

That night he follows the instructions he read this morning in his file, _picture file on the kitchen table, bathroom door open, this file on the bedside table, get up on six on weekdays, charge your phone, always write appointments in the calendar, your phone and the file, write everything down you don't want to forget before you go to sleep!!!_. And so he does, he writes a quick summary of his day in a few sentences, pulls the file he keeps about his mum from the shelf and writes down everything she has told him earlier the day as he called her a second time, updates his files for Lottie and Doris as well and finally places everything on his bedside table and curls himself under his blanket.

He is tired as he lays his head onto his pillow. It scares him, that everything will be gone, everything he has learned today will be completely new in the morning. It's almost like dying, really. This day dies, will be gone forever, nothing in his memory and nothing for his future self.

He keeps his eyes shut, and tries not to think about it.

  
  


***

  
  


A stranger looks back at him.

If it weren't for the fact that he blinks at the same time, squints his eyes when Louis does and shows the same shocked expression Louis feels, he would think a stranger stared at him.

  
  


He picks his phone up, dialing the familiar number with shaking fingers.

“Mum?” he asks as soon as the person on the other end picks up. His voice quivers.

  
  


He decides on a simple green mug and sits down at the kitchentable.

Pictures of people he thought he knew, pictures of people who now look like strangers, pictures of people he knows he is supposed to know because they're family, but who he can't remember ever meeting in his life.

  
  


Simple instructions for Mondays, _shower, get dressed, take the 7:51 to Kensington, meet with Liam_.

  
  


The jeans feel too tight and the jumper is too dark. The 7:51 is right on time, and Louis waits patiently for him to arrive at his destination, feeling a bit lost in the crowd of people. He picks at the inseam of his trousers, nervous fingers, nervous thoughts, nervous voice.

It's not like he has never been on this train before, he knows the stations, knows the buildings, and yet it all feels so different.

There are these new shoes every teenager seems to wear, news about a war in the papers Louis can't put any information to whatsoever, it's all so very different even though it's the same.

He is relieved when his tube finally pulls into his station, and even more so when he spots the garden center right across the street. He knows he has no need to, but this reminds him unpleasantly of every first day at every job he had.

When he opens the door he is immediately greeted by a young man, hair styled up in a quiff and warm, brown eyes smiling at him welcomingly.

“Louis, hey,” he starts. “I'm Liam, I work here with you since you started here, we get along quite well,” he says, shaking Louis' hand with a firm grip.

“Uh, hi Liam,” Louis replies. He has seen him in pictures, _Liam, 21, co-worker and friendliest person on earth probably, you like him a lot._

“I'm sorry but I don't think I know anything about gardening, to be honest,” he adds.

Liam laughs. “That's alright, you've been doing quite well for the last two years,” he says, bringing his hand to rest on Louis' shoulder. “Come with me, I'll show you everything.”

He guides Louis through a door into a small room, a coffee machine and a fridge lining the wall. “You can make yourself something to drink if you want,” Liam adds, pointing to the fridge, “there's some of your milk left from Friday and I think you've got cereal as well,” he opens the cupboard, “yeah it says _Louis_ on there.”

He points to the opposite wall, “There's space for your clothes and your bag in the top right corner. Put this on,” he hands Louis his work clothes, a simple blue shirt with a nametag and grey work trousers, “and when you're finished come find me right outside, alright?”

Louis nods, partly stunned in silence from the information overload and partly completely uncertain in how to act around Liam. He seems like an easygoing person, understanding of Louis situation, but still, Louis actually doesn't know him at all.

He's not sure how much Liam knows about him, what Louis has told him over the past years, but at least he doesn't make Louis feel like a freak.

He changes into his work clothes quickly, and stores his bag in the place Liam showed him, before looking for Liam again. As he promised, he is waiting just outside, chatting with a co-worker but abandoning the conversation as soon as he spots Louis.

Liam walks over with a friendly smile. “Alright, you'll just stay with me for the day, carry some of the stuff around and sort in some of our products. You can help customers as best you can, but don't worry you can always redirect them to a co-worker, they're all really nice.”

Louis swallows. “Okay, yeah, I think I can do that,” he says, nodding.

And it does turn out quite well, actually. He does everything Liam tells him too, sorting through different kinds of flower pots in the warehouse for the first half of his day, and then continues with reorganizing the product line-up in the section for watering cans. They are small tasks, but they keep him occupied from overthinking everything too much.

He is just about to take a pee-break, when he crosses by the section for potting soil. It seems ridiculous to him how that many different kinds of potting soil can exist, but really, what does he know about that.

“Uhm excuse me,” a voice calls for his attention. Louis turns around, about to redirect whoever is asking to someone else, as the strangers face breaks into a smile.

“I know you, don't I?” the man says, brushing his long curls out of his face, “uh, yesterday at the bakery? It's a bit stupid but that was you, wasn't it?”

Louis squinches his eyes, tries to look for a feature he might remember, or for one he might have written down yesterday, something, just something that tells him he has met this person before. But there's nothing, nothing in his notes from yesterday that would fit. The only thing that springs to his mind are three words, written neatly behind yesterday's date. _Bakery, coffee and food_.

Still, Louis wishes he could remember, could tell the man in front of him anything that makes his smile light up again, because he can't say he likes how it fades with every second Louis stays quiet.

“Uh, yeah the bakery, sorry but I don't -,” he pauses, “I don't really remember.”

The man in front of him lets his mouth twitch into a smile again, but it's a small one, polite, without much emotion. “That's alright, I just thought – nevermind.” He turns to look at the different kinds of potting soil.

“But you might be able to help me,” he says, and adds with a quick glance and a grin to Louis' shirt, “Mr Tomlinson.”

“Sure,” Louis says after a confused second, before reminding himself that he is probably the worst person to be asked about potting soil, work clothes or not.

“Alright, I just want to plant some flowers, my flat really needs something alive other than myself in it, but I'm not sure if I should go for the classic type or the one with extra minerals, wouldn't that be better for them? I literally have no clue about flowers or gardening whatsoever, so I'm a bit lost.”

Well, he's not alone with that.

“Uh,” Louis starts, looking around for any of his co-workers for the man to ask, but no one seems to be around. This can't be that hard, really. What would he personally decide on?

“Uhm the ones without is cheaper so I would take that one,” he says, and oh great, he's really not doing a good job here. Besides, he really needs the toilet.

The man turns to him, grinning. His mouth seems ridiculously wide. “Shouldn't you like, try to sell me the priciest one?” he asks, “or give me some information on whether those minerals are actually doing the job?”

Louis turns his head to the side, “Well, uh I'm just being honest with you, I don't think a pair of flowers are worth the five pounds extra,” he says. “But,” he adds after a second thought, “of course the minerals are really important for your little garden so you should buy that one. You really, really should.”

The man's eyes are fixed on his face, his smile not faltering one bit this time. “Sorry to say this,” he says, “but you are a bit shit at selling your products.”

Louis shrugs. “Sorry,” he grins, “and to be honest you should really ask the guy over there for some real help, because I really need the toilet.”

It doesn't actually matter, right? He knows he's quite secure in his job, and he won't even remember this conversation tomorrow. He's not losing anything by messing around a bit, it's all just good fun.

He waves Liam over to the two of them, and when he is sure the man's gardening problem are in good and most importantly capable hands, he nods his goodbye to him and trodds off in the direction of the employees bathroom.

He takes his time to wash the dirt of the shop off his fingers before he walks out, through the front room and into the actual store again.

He's startled out of his thoughts as he turns a corner – and runs straight into the chest of the man he just left for the bathroom.

Firm hands grab his upper arms, holding him upright and stopping the both of them from tumbling over, which would have been all sorts of embarassing.

“I'm so sorry,” Louis starts, hastily taking a step back.

As he looks up to meet the others man's eyes, he is met with a soft smile.

“That's alright. Kind of my fault to be honest,” he says, “are you okay Mr Tomlinson?”

Louis cringes at the sound of his last name coming from the stranger. “It's Louis,” he says. He's pretty sure he is not actually supposed to get on first-name-base with customers but if he has to hear that guy saying his last name one more time with the most innocent look on his face, he is probably going to die. Or worse.

The other guy nods, smile still on his face as if it is a permanent feature. It's a beautiful smile, really, all sincere, the kind that reaches the eyes and lets them form soft crinkles around them.

“Hey this is not fair,” Louis says, as he receives nothing but silence, “I told you my name, now it's your turn, I'm pretty sure that's how it works.”

The smile falters only a little. “Harry. God you really don't remember anything do you? It was only yesterday,” he says, seemingly a bit dissapointed that Louis doesn't remember.

If only yesterday actually happened for Louis.

The thing is, if something major happened Louis is sure he would have written it down. But there is nothing in his notes that he remembers from reading this morning, nothing that hints at him ever meeting Harry before. Still, the sound of Harry's name, the feel of it on his tongue as he says it, it sparks the slightest bit of memory in Louis. The name, just the name.

“Sorry Harry,” he says, as sincere as possible. He wants to remember, aches for remembering what Harry so obviously does.

“No worries,” the other man, Harry, says. And there it is again, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile.

“So,” Louis starts, desperate in a change of topic without letting go of the conversation just yet, “could Liam help you with your potting soil?” he asks. “Mr Payne, sorry,” he adds quickly as he realises his mistake.

Harry nods, pointing behind him to the shopping car, two heavy packages of potting soil behind him. The kind without the minerals.

“He was a lot more helpful than you were,” he says, his voice mocking but his face calm.

Louis crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah, well, sorry about that. I'm not really working here,” he says. “I mean I am but I'm more of a sidekick, y'know, clearing the warehouse and all that,” he adds at a look at Harry's confused face.

Harry nods one more time. “I better get going now, still got work today,” he says apologetically, “but it was really nice running into you again. Literally,” he chuckles. “Hey, if I ever see you again, will you remember me next time?” he asks, as he moves to grab his shopping car.

“I hope so,” Louis says. He really, really does.

As soon as Harry has rounded the corner with his shopping car, two packages of potting soil and a wave, Louis walks off into the direction of the employees room one more time, runs almost in the attempt to get to his bag as soon as possible.

He flops down on a chair at the small table and pulls his bag out of the shelf, reaching inside for what he's desperately looking for. He finds it soon enough, a thick notebook in dark brown leather, crooked at the edges from years of usage.

He opens it to a free page.

_Remember Harry. I met him before but I obviously couldn't remember, met him today again at work (he was buying potting soil for his flowers), he knows my full name and we talked a bit. Nothing important, but I can't forget. Don't forget Harry. He's tall, has brown curls to his shoulders and green eyes, his mouth is ridiculously wide and his smile is beautiful. Remember Harry, remember Harry, remember Harry._

There is no point. He could spend the whole day writing Harry's name down, burning his image into his mind, and he still wouldn't remember tomorrow. A small note like this is his only chance, and still, it might be completely pointless after all.

His mother had explained it to him this morning, and he had quickly learned it himself. There is only so much information he can relearn every morning, and only so much information that is actually vital for his day to day life.

This morning she told him to look into the bookshelf in the living room, and Louis did. It was filled to the brim with folders, thick, brown folders labelled _Mum, Fizzy, Liam, Niall,_ and many other names Louis could only partly recognise.

Each of the folders contained pictures and pages of text handwritten by Louis, pages filled with information about days spend together, and about the small details of that very person. Louis figured that if he would read every file he has stored in the house, he would know everything from the past four years.

But his mum is right, Louis is simply not capeable of reading every piece of information every morning. It's why he has the most vital information written down in the folders he reads every morning, but it's also why every person he has met in the last four years is a stranger to him.

Louis doesn't want to forget. He doesn't want to forget Harry and the small and seemingly unimportant conversation they had today, but he knows that he will. And to be honest with himself, including a brief description of Harry into his every day information routine is not useful either since he has no idea if he will ever see him again. Still, losing that bit of information feels a bit like losing himself, and God, he only ever had one conversation with the guy.

It's ridiculous and stupid, but Louis doesn't ever want to see the look on Harry's face again as the other man realises that Louis doesn't remember him, he doesn't want to make him feel like he isn't something worth remembering to Louis. Because he is, but Louis still can't.

Louis takes a red marker from the shelf which is surprisingly well stocked with stationery arcticles for an employees coffee break room, and circles the words he has written about Harry twice before storing the notebook back in his bag again, and heading outside to do some more of his sidekick work for Liam.

When he leaves for home a few hours later, he is exhausted. His body aches and his mind is tired which noticeably changes his mood for the worse.

He restrains from falling straight into bed, though, and instead tries to keep himself awake for a few more hours. He carefully copies his notes over Harry into his morning file and writes down a quick summary of his day.

Only when he's finished he starts to flick through the different files in the living room. He reads through transcriptions of his own life like he would reading a book, learning a bit more about the main character with every page he turns.

When one day in particular sparks his interest, he picks up his phone and dials a familiar number. Niall picks up almost immediately, and they end up talking for hours, just talking.

Since there is not much for Louis to tell Niall about his last four years, the topics mostly invole their childhood, beloved memories of both of them that have Louis lying on the floor laughing. Speaking to Niall and reliving those old memories feels like the most normal thing Louis has done all day.

As he finally ends the call and heads for bed that night, he almost feels like a normal person. A normal person with a normal life, and he falls asleep with a smile still on his face, his thoughts wound up in his childhood again.

  
  


***

  
  


After looking through the cupboard for a few seconds, he decides on a simple green mug, before sitting down at the table in the kitchen.

His gaze wanders over pictures of family members and friends, strangers or so it seems and Louis has to quickly shut his eyes to keep himself from freaking out.

Nothing seems familiar, not the surface of the kitchentable under his fingertips nor the cold floor underneath his feet. Faces fly through his thoughts, names, facts, information about his life, unfamiliar, so unfamiliar it hurts.

The tea running down his throat sooths him, the taste thankfully the same like he is used to.

There is a note in the file in front of him that he clings to. _Meet Niall at two pm in the park, call him if you need anything_. Louis aches for something more familiar than a cup of tea, and Niall, as one of his oldest friends, is exactly what he needs right now, something normal in the midst of the chaos that is Louis' thoughts and life.

But only when he spots Niall sitting on a bench in the park, his heart stutters in excitement of actually seeing his closest friend again after what feels like forever.

He shakes his head fondly at the look of Niall picking little pieces of bread from his sandwich and feeding a group of birds in front of him like a senile grandpa, completely unaware of the happenings surrounding him and therefore not spotting Louis until he is standing right in front of him.

“Louis,” Niall exclaims excitedly as he jumps to his feet, scaring the birds away as he does.

Louis smiles into his shoulder as they hug. Only when he draws back he spots the small differences of the Niall he remembers to the Niall he looks at now. His face is less chubby and he lost the braces, looking grown-up and handsome.

Still, his laugh is the same, loud and unbashful, laughing about everything and nothing, blue eyes crinkling in the corners, radiating happiness. A literal sunshine.

“How are you?” he asks, holding onto Louis' shoulder with one hand.

“I'm good I guess,” Louis says, “feel a bit weird but it's so good to see you.”

Niall laughs. “Yeah I can imagine,” he says. “You're in a bit of a weird situation, no wonder you feel like that. But hey, I'm here for you if you ever need to talk, alright?”

Louis nods.

“Do you wanna sit down or go for a walk or something?” Niall asks. “Or we could go and get a cuppa, whatever you want.”

“Let's just sit here for a while maybe, the sun is so nice,” Louis says, and they both sit down. The warm sunrays spark a feeling of happiness in Louis, and it settles in his stomach, calming him with every second, grounding him.

They talk about the little things, bits and pieces, nothing important and nothing too heavy, simple and easy smalltalk that feels just about right for the moment.

The small bubble they've build around themselves, birds chirping and people chatting, is only interrupted when a shadow falls between Louis and the lights, causing Louis to open his eyes from where he has closed them to fully enjoy the warmth on his face.

“Harry,” Niall shouts happily, and the first thing Louis sees when he opens his eyes is Niall hugging someone close, someone with curly, dark hair pulled up in a bun, grinning widely. Louis doesn't recognises him, but his brain starts to turn itself over, bringing bits and pieces together.

_Remember Harry, remember Harry, remember Harry._

Words he has read this morning spring to his attention, the description of a person fitting the one in front of him; he has met him before, and apparently past-Louis liked him enough to add him into his daily notes.

If only he could remember.

“Hey Niall,” Harry says, letting go of him and flashing a smile first to him and then to Louis. “Louis,” he adds.

The only thing Louis can bring himself to do is return the smile weakly, giving him a bit of a wave as well. He'd normally never describe himself as a shy person but the situation leaves him completely unsure of what to do.

“You two know each other?” Niall asks, his eyes big on Louis.

They do, for a matter of fact. Not that Louis actually recalls any situation involving Harry but that's not important right now. Not with Harry still laughing at him brighter than the sun.

Past-Louis has made great choices.

“We do,” Louis says, nodding. “We've met, yeah.”

He catches Niall's glance a few seconds later. _Everything alright_ , he thinks he sees him mouthing, and Louis nods.

“Tell me,” Niall prompts after reassuring himself that the situation is okay for Louis, and really, he's such a great friend.

Harry turns his attention to Niall. “In the bakery last week, and then again when I was at the garden center, we talked a bit,” he says.

Good to know.

Louis nods once again, as if this is not brandnew information to him.

“Oh god, please tell me you still make those cinnamon rolls,” Niall says.

Harry chuckles. “I do, the customers love them,” he says. He looks at Louis. “I'm actually heading to work right now, if you two want to you can tag along and I'll see if I can find some freshly baked goods for you,” he adds.

Niall looks like Harry just offered him world peace and everything that's good on earth.

Louis grins. “I'm in.”

And just like that Louis finds himself surrounded by a smell that seems to good to be true only ten minutes later, window lined with sugary sweets, pies, cakes and freshly baked bread.

The shop is almost empty as Louis looks through the room, the only other person besides the three of them being an older woman who greets Harry with a smile and a hug.

“Greta,” Harry greets her, dusting some flour of her shoulder. “I brought some friends with me to eat the leftovers.”

Greta laughs. “Of course you did,” she says. “But you do have some things to bake so get your cute little bum to the back.” She smiles at Niall and Louis, “I can get both of you a coffee, it's on the house,” she says, and as they both nod she turns around to prepare their drinks.

Harry on his part walks around the counter, shedding his jacket around the corner before turning back to Niall and Louis.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, before making his way into the back of the shop.

And as much as Louis loved sitting outside in the sun, having an actual place to sit with a coffee in his hands feels just as good, and conversation with Niall continues to flow easily.

Harry returns about half an hour later, apron tied around his waist, and a smear of flour in his hairline. He places a plate between Niall and Louis, the smell of cinnamon catching Louis' attention.

What Harry baked looks delicious, golden baked, small rolls of pastry filled with dark cinnamon, and Louis laughs as Niall lets out a noise of delight.

“Voilá!” Harry says, mirroring Louis' laugh as Niall instantly reaches for one of the rolls.

Harry grabs a chair from a nearby table and pulls it to theirs. “Go on, try them Louis,” he says, and Louis takes a bite.

It tastes even better than it looks, and as Louis lets out a small moan, well, Harry only laughs.

“I'm glad you like it,” he says.

A few strands of his hair have escaped his bun to fall into his face, and Harry tugs them behind his ear with long fingers. The flour in his hair catches Louis' attention again.

“You've got flour in your hair,” he states.

“Where?” Harry asks, wiping over his hair with the back of his hand.

Louis' grin widens as Harry seems to touch every part of his hair but the right one. “No,” he laughs, “let me -,” and he reaches forward to wipe the flour of Harry's forehead and dusts it out of his hair with the tips of his fingers. “There,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Harry leaves a few minutes after that to return to his kitchen but he does come back out again a few more times, serving Niall and Louis more of what he baked, one thing better than the other.

That is until Greta slaps him on the butt with a towel, laughing, “Stop trying to impress your friends, those are for customers who pay,” but as Louis reaches for his wallet, because let's be real, they have ate a big amount of things Greta could have sold, she only waves him off with a smile.

As the shop starts to fill a bit again Niall excuses himself and says his goodbyes to both Louis and Harry, promising Louis that they'll see each other again soon, and then he's out the door.

Louis is just about to leave as well, when he spots Harry talking to Greta behind the counter before walking over to Louis' table.

“Can you bake?” he asks.

“No,” Louis replies honestly. He's not actually _that_ bad, but he does feel a lot safer when someone else is making the cake for one of his sisters birthday party, or if he can order what he needs in a bakery.

There is just something about getting the measurements right and taking the cake out of the oven without it turning black on top and still having it baked through that Louis' doesn't quite get. He admires the people who do.

“Ah well,” Harry says. He's fidgeting with the seam of his apron. “If you want you could still come to the back with me?” he asks. “I only have some simple biscuits to make but it can get quite boring. Only if you want to?”

For some reason Harry has managed to turn from this tall, confident young men into what almost seems like a nervous sixteen year old. He looks a lot smaller with his hands holding his apron, his posture slightly slouched, looking at Louis expectingly.

It's incredibly endearing.

“I'd love that.” Louis nods. “But I'll probably just annoy you and keep you from baking,” he says, standing up from his chair.

“That's alright,” Harry says, suddenly becoming visibly more confident in the situation. He leads Louis around the counter and a corner into another room.

It's not a big room, plastic containers labeled with various baking ingredients lining the wall, the surfaces wiped clean and the smell of freshly baked goods hanging in the air.

It's barely enough room for two people to bake at the same time, and seeing as Louis knows quite well that he'll just be in the way, he hops onto the counter and slides all the way up into the corner, making himself as small as possible as Harry takes to measuring flour into a bowl.

“You really weren't joking about not baking, weren't you,” Harry states with a glance at Louis.

“Trust me, you don't want me to help,” Louis says. “I'm quite content just watching you.”

Harry laughs. “Creep.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Harry shrugs. “So why have you never learned how to bake?” he asks, grabbing other ingredients from the cupboard behind him.

“Don't know, guess I just never really tried,” he says. “My sister loves baking,” he adds. Or at least she did five years ago, who knows if she still does. Louis doesn't, that's for sure.

“Really? How old is she?” Harry asks.

Louis hesitates. “Sixteen. Seventeen in a few months.” It feels wrong.

“Oh I wish I had younger siblings,” Harry says. “My sister is a few years older than me.”

Louis laughs. “You can have some of mine, I've got enough.”

“How many do you have?”

Again, it takes Louis a few seconds to get the answer right in his head. “Five sisters and one brother.” The answer is bitter in his mouth.

Harry starts mixing his ingredients up in a bowl, flour dusting his apron as he does. “Oh okay that's a lot,” he says, a smile wide on his lips.

They stay silent for a while, Louis watching as Harry mixes the dough. He adds chocolate drops and mixes them in as well, before deeming himself satisfied with his work.

“Do you want to help to form the biscuits?” he asks, wiping his hands off. “Don't worry it's easy,” he adds, smiling.

Louis nods, jumping off the counter.

“Ah, wash your hands,” Harry says, pointing over to the sink in the corner.

Louis does as he's tol and returns to Harry's side, who in the meantime has managed to line a baking tray with paper.

“Look, you just form little balls like that,” he says, showing Louis.

Louis watches carefully before taking a hand of dough on his own, carefully forming a ball in his hand and putting it down on the baking tray, pushing it flat like Harry has shown him.

“Perfect,” Harry says, nudging Louis' side.

“Shh, don't distract me I'm concentrating,” Louis says, his hands already forming a second ball.

Only when he's put that one down as well he looks up at Harry, only to find him already looking back at him, smile wide and honest.

“What,” Louis prompts, squirming a bit under the attention.

“Nothing,” Harry grins, shaking his head a little. “It's just that you look actually concentrated, brows furrowed and tongue poking out and all that.”

Louis feels himself blushing. “Shut up.”

“No, it's cute,” Harry says, turning his attention back to the dough.

Louis grumbles. “I'm not cute. I'm rugged and hot and manly.”

Harry let's out a loud laugh, more like a cackle actually, that seems to even surprise himself. “You can be all of that and still be cute, y'know.”

Louis struggles to bite back a smile. “Go back to your biscuits, I'm not doing all the work for you,” he says.

“Excuse me, I'm working really hard here,” Harry says, trying to sound offended.

“Well, so far I made four cookies while you made one so who's really the one working here.”

It's a contest from there on, a race on who can form the most biscuits in the least amount of time.

Despite Louis' headstart Harry still wins, but it's not fair, really, not with Harry being a baker for way longer that the ten minutes Louis has.

“Hah,” Harry exclaims, as he places the last bit of dough on the baking tray, Louis still working on his own handful. “I win.”

Harry grabs the baking tray as soon as Louis is done as well, and carefully places it in the big oven, pushing a few numbers into the clock above, where bright red digits announce the baking time.

“They should be done in fifteen minutes,” he says, washing his hands in the sink, Louis mirroring his actions. “Thank you for helping, it's a lot more fun with you.”

Louis grins. It really had been a lot of fun. “My pleasure,” he says, drying his hands on a towel beneath the sink.

“Do you always bake this late in the afternoon?” he asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Nah, I usually bake in the morning before everyone comes in, but someone ordered different kinds of cakes and sweets for a party so I prepared everything now.”

“So you're a morning person then?”

Harry shakes his head once again. “Usually, no. But my job requires it and it's actually really nice how quiet everything is in the morning. And I do have most of the day off after.”

“Well I mean, early bird gets the worm.” Louis nods.

Harry laughs. “Are you throwing gay innuendos at me, Lewis?”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe I am. But did you just call me Lewis?”

“Maybe I did.”

“Shut up, Harold.”

Harry lets out another one of his cackled laughs, and Louis can't help but let his smile take over his whole face. He loves how Harry seems to always be completely surprised by his own outburst of laughter, how he claps his hands over his mouth immediately, eyes wide. He loves that he can make Harry laugh like that.

They stare at each other for a second, eyes fixed, and laughter dying on their faces, before Harry breaks away and turns his attention to the surface where they baked earlier.

“I should clean this up before the cookies are ready,” he says, already starting to place the bowl in the almost full dishwasher.

Louis nods, and grabs for a wet cloth, wiping the surface down.

“You don't need to do this,” Harry says.

“But I want to. I helped baking, I'm helping to clean.”

He feels Harry's presence beside him. “Thank you,” the other men says, voice soft. He sounds so honest that Louis is taken aback for a second.

“Jesus Harry, I'm just cleaning a bit.”

But Harry doesn't move, still close to Louis' side and voice still so soft and honest as he speaks to Louis, searching eye contact between them. He smiles as Louis looks at him.

“Okay, but honestly thank you. I had fun today.”

Louis stares at him for a moment, stares at this wonderful stranger in front of him, a person he barely knows but still feels so comfortable around, a person he desperately wants to get to know better. He wants to know about all those little things that make Harry _Harry_ , he wants to know how his skin feels under his fingertips and what makes him smile, maybe even what his lips would feel like on his own and what he looks like in the morning – but Louis can't, and it hurts.

It hurts so bad that it's just for the moment, for this breath, for this day. Nothing to last, not a memory to keep and to remember when he's seventy.

His eyes are green, so very, very green.

“Hey, do you maybe want to go somewhere else when you're done working,” Louis hears himself speak, although he can't recall himself saying these words.

“I'd love that.”

Louis can see Harry's hand moving forward reaching out to maybe touch Louis' arm and he aches for the contact, leans into it even.

A loud noise coming from the oven causes Harry's hand to freeze in mid-air, and the bubble they've seemed to have build around them shatters.

“Right,” Harry says, turning his attention to the oven and silencing the beeping with a touch to a button.

Louis watches as he takes the tray out of the oven, and a delicious smell fills the small kitchen. Harry places their biscuits on a different tray to let them cool.

“So what now?” Louis asks.

Harry finishes up the last of the cleaning, making sure everything is in its rightful place again.

“Well,” he starts, “I'm done here for today. The shop closes in a bit and Greta will finish up the orders for today, and deliver them.” He smiles. “But I'm free to go.”

Louis feels the corner of his lips tuck up in a smile. “Let's get out of here, then.”

It takes Harry only a few minutes to get rid of his apron, gather his things and leave the shop with Louis. Only when they're standing on the pavement outside the shop, the sun hidden behind clouds and therefore leaving Louis shivering under his light jacket, Louis realises that he has no idea where to go with Harry.

It's not late enough for dinner somewhere, and besides, this is not a date, and Louis actually doesn't know if the places he once knew still exist. It's been four years after all.

They start walking nonetheless, both of them quiet at first, seemingly with no destination whatsoever, their feet finding the way themselves.

They walk quietly for the first few minutes, the two of them beside each other. Louis is usually not one to enjoy silence, always loves to talk about anything or nothing, loves to fill the air with words and laughter. He gets quite uncomfortable in silence sometimes, or bored at the very least.

Not with Harry though.

Still, Harry breaks the silence after a while with a question. “So,” he says, “what do you do in your freetime if you're not sitting in bakeries eating free food?”

Louis chuckles. “Well, good question, actually. Would you believe me if I said that my life is quite boring? Nothing memorable, that's for sure.” Louis knows that Harry won't understand just how not-memorable Louis' life really is, not that he wants him to. But it does give him at least an impression. And makes him seem like the most boring person in the world, which, great. Good job, Louis, he thinks.

“I don't,” Harry says, “I think your life is the opposite of boring.”

“Oh you have no idea.”

“Then tell me,” Harry prompts.

Louis sighs. “There is just not much to say, y'know. There's work, and there are weekends. I see my family every now and then, and a few of my old friends, like Niall. That's about it really.”

He can tell Harry watching him from the corner of his eyes. “Stop looking at me or you'll run into someone,” he says.

When Harry speaks again, he can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him. “What are your hobbies?”

“Hobbies, really? You're asking the most boring and predictable questions now.”

“I'm just trying to get to know you better. And I have not asked you about your favourite colour yet, that's a boring question. Although,” he rambles, “favourite colours do say quite a lot about a person. Anyway,” he drags the word out, “what are your hobbies?”

Louis shakes his head in fond disbelief. Harry is really something else. “I loved drama in school,” he says. “I even played Danny Zuko in a school production once.” He smiles at the memory.

“So you can sing?”

Louis shrugs. “I'm alright, I guess.”

“I'm sure you're a lot better than just alright,” Harry says.

“You do believe an awful lot in me for knowing me for what, three conversations?”

Harry purses his lips. “I believe in people.”

“And that's supposed to mean what?”

“I believe that we all tend to talk ourselves down, and that we're capable of much greater things than we think. I try to see the good in people.”

“How often are you wrong with that?”

“Sometimes,” Harry says. “But I'm right more often than not.”

Louis nods, restraining from keeping his eyes fixed on Harry walking beside him. A few more seconds pass in silence.

“So what happened to loving drama?” Harry asks.

It takes Louis a second to form the answer in his head. “I guess I forgot.”

“You forgot how to act?” Harry asks, and Louis can hear the confusion in his voice. Louis isn't surprised, he knows for a person unaware of his condition he is speaking in riddles.

“I forgot how to love it,” he replies. “I forget how to keep up with things, make them something that continues, you know? It's hard to keep up with something if you continue to forget the reason behind it.”

Harry nods as if he understands but Louis knows that he doesn't, at least not really.

“And my favourite colour is red. A dark red,” Louis adds.

It wipes the serious look from Harry's face he has adapted, and plants a smile there instead. Louis likes it much more this way.

“That does say an awful lot about your personality.”

Louis laughs. “So what does it mean? Am I an angry person, dangerous, maybe? Red is the colour of danger after all, right?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “It's a loud colour. A confident one.”

Louis' confidence had always been one of the traits he was most proud of back when he was younger, back when he was remembering his life. That person seems a lifetime away. He's not sure if he's still the same.

“I guess,” he says, before falling into silence again.

“Louis,” Harry picks up conversation once again, “where exactly are we going?”

Louis stops walking immediately, pulled back into reality again at Harry's words. “Uh,” he starts. At some point they've left the busiest streets, walking into a neighbourhood Louis recognizes partly. A five-story-house catches his attention, faded, white flowers on the balcony on the second floor, the number thirty-two over the door.

“I live here, actually.” _I think_ , he adds silently. No, he remembers. When he left this morning he had taken a close look at his building, and yeah, he definitely lives here. He must have walked the only way that made sense in his mushed-up brain unconsiously, his feet walking him home without thinking.

“So,” Harry says after a second of silence, “are you going to ask me to come with you or should I leave?” he asks, voice easy.

“No,” Louis says. He doesn't really want to let go of Harry just yet. Keep him for a bit longer. “You could come with me if you want to,” he adds.

“Yeah okay,” Harry says, after a little pause, “lead the way.”

Louis opens the front door for Harry and walks him up to the third floor, stopping in front of the door with his last name.

“Wait here a second,” he says as he unlocks the door with his key.

Harry laughs quietly. “It's not like I've never seen an untidy flat,” he says.

Louis looks him dead in the eye. “Promise you'll wait,” he says.

Harry raises his arms in defense. “Yeah okay,” he says, still laughing a bit. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Louis says as he kicks the door open. “Just a minute.”

Harry nods, and Louis quickly slips inside. He doesn't remember when he last had a guest around – obviously – but he's sure sticky notes all over his places labeling cupboards and just everything really is not quite the impression he wants to leave on a person.

He slips his shoes off and quickly walks through his flat, getting rid of anything unusual as he goes. While he's at it he also puts the used mug and cereal bowl from this morning in the sink, before returning to the front door.

“Finished?” Harry asks with a grin as Louis peaks through the doorframe.

“Yeah, come in,” he replies, opening the door properly for Harry. “Sorry about that.”

“You know, my flat looks like a mess most of the time,” Harry says as he walks in, fingers working on opening his coat, gaze wandering over the inside of Louis' flat.

“I don't quite believe you,” Louis says. “You don't seem like the type.”

Harry nods his head to the side. “Okay true, I like to keep it tidy,” he admits. “I still wouldn't have cared.”

“But I would have.”

“Well, then I'm glad you took care of it,” Harry says, toeing his shoes off.

“So,” Louis starts, “do you want the full tour?”

“Actually,” Harry says, “I'd be quite content if you could just show me where the bathroom is real quick.”

Louis laughs. “It's through the bedroom,” he says, pointing to the closed door. “I'll be in the living room,” he points to another door, “do you want something to drink?”

“Just some water please,” Harry says, and Louis nods.

He fills two glasses for the both of them in the kitchen – without the sticky notes it takes him two guesses as to where he stores his glasses – and makes himself comfortable on the couch in the living room.

Harry returns quickly from the bathroom, but instead of sitting down next to Louis on the couch he remains standing, walking through Louis' living room, carefully looking over every single item he spots.

“You don't have many personal things,” he says, looking over to where Louis sits on the sofa. “I don't mean that in a bad way, your place looks lovely,” he adds quickly.

He's right. A few books line the bookshelf to the right of the sofa, but Louis doesn't think he has read any of them in ages, and there are no items in the room to tell any stories from his last four years. Well, apart from the thick folders behind the closed door of the bookshelf, not visible to Harry's eyes, which basically tell the story of Louis' life in more detail than any object ever could, but he can't really show these to Harry, can he.

“I guess I'm more the minimalistic type of interior design,” he says with a smile, even though that's not true at all.

Growing up, his mother used to ask him all the time to throw away the crap in his room that would overfill his shelfs and line the floor, because Louis used to keep all the little things that reminded him of a person or an event of some kind.

To him, every single item told the story of a beloved memory, one he didn't want to throw away. He liked how they made a memory or a feeling into something physical, something to look at and hold on to.

He remembers leaving all of it behind when he went to university, and from then on, well, there was no real sense in keeping memories in form of objects.

If there is no memory to keep, there is no significance to the item itself. Even looking at photos of himself from the past four years feels like a stab in the stomach to Louis, the strange feeling of living a life that isn't his life at all.

Finally, Harry sits down on the sofa beside Louis, making himself comfortable in his spot.

It's a small sofa, their legs close enough that Louis can feel the heat of Harry's body radiating onto his own.

It's the first time that Louis actually pays attention to all of Harry, taking him in with his eyes from head to toe.

His long legs are pulled up on the sofa, tight, black jeans clinging to his thighs. His shirt is not buttoned up all the way, showing off his collarbones and the top of his chest. Louis spots a few tattoos on his arm that he has seen earlier in the day. His shoulders are slighty hunched inwards, as if he tries to appear smaller than he his. He looks incredibly young sitting like this, so different from the confident Harry Louis has seen before.

Louis nods towards his tattooed wrist. An anchor accentuates it in black ink. “Does it have a meaning?” he asks.

Harry looks down at his wrist as if he's not sure what Louis is talking about. “Oh the anchor?” he replies, “it does. It's about, uhm, y'know being okay with – with who I am as a person. It's supposed to remind me that I can't change who I am, and that that's okay. I try to hold on to the thought that there are certain things that will never change about me, and that those are actually things that ground me somehow,” he makes it sound like a question, “the anchor is symbolising that I hold on to that thought.”

Louis tilts his head. “I think I know what you mean,” he says. He watches as Harry traces the fingers of his right hand over the black ink. “It looks good.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. “It's the first tattoo I got, actually, right after I turned eighteen.”

“How many do you have?” Louis asks. He can spot a few more just beside the anchor, little doodles, wavy lines, a small lock, a key, three dots. There are even more up his arm, partly hidden by his sleeve.

“I don't know, actually,” Harry says. “I lost count. Most of them are just small doodles, though, a few for my friends and my family.”

“Tell me about them.”

Harry grins. “Someday, maybe. I can't let all my secrets spill on the first date.”

“Oh, so this is a date now?” Louis says, “shit, if I had known that I would've worn something more fancy.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, smiling widely at him, green eyes sparkling.

Once they lock eyes, laughing at each other with crinkling eyes, Louis doesn't seem to be able to avert his eyes again. The mood around them seems to change abruptly, every sound dying down, the small space between them feeling almost electric.

Fascination for this other person takes over Louis, how he feels drawn to him after only knowing him for a few hours, his body reacting to every one of Harry's movements. His attention is fixed on Harry's expression and the little features, the crinkle of his eyes and the slight curve of his lips, his jawline and the dimple in his cheek.

He aches to reach out for Harry, to touch his skin and feel his body close, he aches to feel Harry's smile on his own lips.

He doesn't recall ever wanting to kiss someone so badly.

But it seems like he's frozen to the spot, unable to move, and he doesn't know how many seconds or minutes pass, both just looking at each other.

It should be awkward but it isn't, not with Harry being as lost in the moment as Louis is.

The simple touch of Harry's fingertips on his own wrist burns on his skin as Harry reaches forward to let his fingers circle around Louis' arm without breaking eye contact.

It's a simple gesture, the touch so innocent, and it shouldn't mean a thing to Louis but it does. It means a whole lot of things, actually, since it is enough to snap Louis out of his trance.

Still, he doesn't recall himself moving forward until the space between the two of them is significantly closer, and Louis' gaze drops to Harry's mouth.

Harry's lips are slightly parted, and so, so kissable.

It's only seconds from there until they both simultaneously move towards each other, closing the last gap between them and connecting their mouths.

It's a soft kiss, just the simple drag of their lips against the other. It probably the most innocent kiss Louis has ever had, until he goes in for another.

When they connect their lips for a second time, lips softly moving against each other, trying, tasting, bodies moving forward, and hands reaching for the touch of skin to skin, the kiss deepens.

Now there's Harry's skin under Louis' fingertips as he moves his hand to cup Harry's face, the slight scruff of beard stubble on Louis' upper lip, and the taste of Harry in his mouth, tongue experimentally dragging over Harry's lip, tasting, and then they're moving together, lips dragging and tongues dancing.

Harry moans softly into the kiss as they deepen it even further, responding to every flick of Louis' tongue with one of his own, fingers moving up Louis' arm and stroking down the top of his chest before reaching up to tangle them in Louis' hair to pull him closer until Louis is halfway in his lap.

It's only then that they break their kiss, both drawing back for air but faces close together, breathing each other.

Louis laughs softly. “What are we doing,” he says, not quite a question, hand stroking down Harry's neck.

“I don't know,” Harry replies, voice slow, and somehow deeper than before. “But I want more.”

Well, Louis won't say no to that.

He connects their lips one more time, the kiss deepening with every second, movements becoming rougher until there's nothing of the previous innocence left.

Somehow Louis has found his way right into Harry's lap, and as he feels Harry's hand moving down his back until they rest on the swell of his ass, he grinds forward involuntarily, ripping a moan from both him and Harry.

It's not that weird that he's as affected by Harry as he is, Louis supposes, not when he's not even sure if he had sex in the last four years at all. His body is probably craving skin to skin contact more than his mind is, so desperate to feeling a body beside him.

The thing is, Louis is not the type for a one-night stand, he knows he isn't. He's never been good with trusting people he barely knows, but for some reason that doesn't seem to be the case with Harry. He trusts this guy an awful lot for meeting him only a few hours ago.

Still, he's a bit embarrassed by just how responding his body is to their kiss, as he feels himself hardening in his pants, Harry's fingers dipping into the flesh of his bum, guiding the small movements of his hips.

But that's only until he feels Harry just as affected, grinding his hips up to meet Louis', moaning against his lips, his body tensing under Louis' touch.

“Louis,” he breathes, as Louis detaches their lips to kiss along his jawline, leaving small kisses down his neck. He angles his head to the back to expose more skin, the skin soft as Louis nibbles on it, biting down slighty, not with enough pressure to mark but hard enough to rip a groan from Harry.

Louis' hips start to move faster as he finds Harry's mouth again, grinding down on Harry in circular motions, moving his hands down Harry's chest, the exposed skin hot under his touch.

His jeans are getting way too uncomfortable.

“Harry,” he moans against Harry's lips, before drawing back to look him in the eyes.

Harry's face is flushed beautifully, lips red and swollen, slick from spit.

“Get this off,” Harry murmurs, voice deep, pushing and pulling at the hem of Louis' shirt. His fingers glide underneath the material, rooming over Louis' upper body, fingertips ghosting over his nipples and sending a shiver down Louis' spine.

“Please,” Louis brings out, not knowing what he's asking for.

Instead he lets Harry take control, pulling his shirt over his head. His long, slender fingers move over his body, his chest, his shoulders, his arms, before coming to rest at the side of Louis' face.

Harry reaches forward, pecking a small kiss to Louis' lips with a smile.

Louis moves towards him, searching for more, but he's stopped by Harry holding him back.

“Only if we do this,” he says, searching for Louis' eyes. “If you kiss me like that again I don't think I'll be able to stop without some serious case of blue balls.”

“I don't want you to stop,” Louis says, moving to press his lips against Harry's ear. “I want you.”

His hands move to cup Harry through his trousers, and Harry hisses, bucking into the touch. Louis' cock twitches as he feels the outline of Harry's hard cock through the fabric, overwhelmed with lust and need.

Harry's hands roam over his body. “Yeah, okay,” he breathes against Louis' lips, once again kissing them with fierce.

Louis' fingers start to work on the zipper of Harry's jeans, pulling them down as best as he can with Harry still sitting on the sofa, and he dips his fingers under the waistband, coarse hair at his fingertips.

Harry groans at the contact, bucking his hips forward. He pushes at Louis' thighs. “Up, up,” he says.

It takes Louis a second to understand, but when he does he climbs off of Harry's legs. He extends his hands to Harry. “Bedroom, please.”

Harry crashes his lips onto Louis' one more time as he stands up, the height difference causing Louis to lean up into the kiss slighty, clutching onto Harry's chest as Harry walks them backwards into the general direction of the door.

Only when Louis hits the wall with a loud thump they break apart, giggling into each other's mouths.

“Maybe we should just walk like normal people,” Louis laughs. When he finally reaches the bedroom, only a few steps away from the bed, he feels Harry's hands on his ass, gripping hard into the flesh. It rips a moan from Louis, leaning back into Harry.

“Couldn't help it,” Harry says into Louis' ear, voice deep and slow, “your ass is fucking amazing.” He sucks kisses under Louis' ear, down the neck. “Your whole body is,” he adds, one hand roaming over Louis' thigh and the other over his lower stomach, teasing, but not quite touching his crotch.

Louis whimpers, his skin tingeling where he feels Harry's body warmth, and as Harry pushes his hips against Louis' bum, his hard cock pressing against him, Louis loses it.

“Oh fuck, Harry, please,” he moans, torn between pushing his ass back to meet Harry's touch and moving against Harry's hands burning on his body.

“What do you need Louis,” Harry murmurs in between sucking lovebites into Louis' exposed neck.

“Just -” Louis starts, but his brain can't finish the thought, not with everything in his mind being _Harry_ , _Harry_ , _Harry_.

“Let me fuck you,” Harry says hotly against Louis' ear, and yes, Louis is very much on board with that.

Harry grinds his hips against Louis'. “Can I do that?”

“Fuck yes,” Louis groans. He's sure his cock has started to leak precome, his jeans feeling way to restrictive for his liking.

Harry finishes off his lovebite, licking over the oversensitive skin, causing Louis to inhale sharply.

“Bed,” he says, gently pushing Louis forwards and onto the bed, straddling his thighs from behind immediately, trapping Louis on his stomach.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and as Louis nods into the mattress he reaches under Louis quickly, blindly working on his zipper.

He pushes Louis' pants down simultaneously with his jeans, only struggling a bit with the tight fabric on Louis' legs. It leaves Louis completely naked while he knows that Harry is somehow still fully clothed, but he can't bring himself to care too much.

“Louis,” Harry groans, kneading his hands over the back of Louis' thighs and the swell of his ass. “Your body is a fucking wonderland.”

“Come on,” Louis groans impatiently, his hips grinding into the mattress at the touch of Harry's hands on his skin, searching for friction on his throbbing cock.

The warmth of Harry's hands is gone as fast as it came. With his face buried into the mattress Louis can only tell from the rustling of clothes that he's no longer the only one naked, and he turns his head in anticipation of seeing Harry's body.

His body is muscular, black ink on his arms, hips and stomach, thighs strong and hair dark. But even over his muscles and defined body he looks soft, love handles visible and thighs peachy.

Louis aches to touch, to reach out and kiss along his body, to suck lovebites into his inner thighs and to grip his fingers into his hips.

For now though he is quite content with Harry straddling his thighs again, this time naked, and as Harry leans down to once again kiss along Louis' neck and shoulders, Louis feels Harry's cock throbbing against his upper thigh.

The heat sends a shiver down Louis' spine, and he moans in anticipation in what's yet to come.

Harry's hands move down his body, spreading his arse cheeks.

Louis cries out as he pushes a finger against his dry hole.

“Where's your lube?” Harry asks.

“Bedside table,” Louis says. He isn't completely sure since he can't exactly remember, but if he's still anything like his nineteen year old self he is definetely well stocked on all the essentials.

Harry's body is gone for the few seconds it takes him to reach across Louis and the bed, and he throws a bottle of lube and a condom next to Louis shortly after.

He uncaps the bottle, and shortly after his fingers are back, only this time wet with lube.

Harry pushes one finger inside Louis slowly, waiting for Louis' reaction. As Louis whimpers at the contact, pushing his hips back to take more of Harry's finger in, Harry pushes in further.

He opens him up slowly after that, pumping his fingers in and out, than a second one, a third one, giving Louis time to adjust to the stretch everytime he adds another.

“You look so good you have no idea,” Harry groans, “all spread open for me, taking my fingers fucking you open.”

His voice is raspy and so, so affected. By the time he is three fingers in, Louis is grinding his hips into the mattress and back onto Harry's fingers, desperate for friction on his dick and more, more in his ass.

He whimpers as Harry brushes against his prostate, hips stuttering against the bed.

“Harry, please,” he whimpers.

Harry draws back, extracting his fingers, leaving Louis empty. But when Harry lines himself up against Louis' hole, only the tip of his hard cock pushing behind the first ring of muscle it's almost too much.

Harry pushes in slowly, stretching Louis more than he could with his fingers, and they both moan simultaneously when he's buried all the way inside Louis.

Settled between Louis' thighs, Harry starts to fuck Louis slowly, moans falling from his lips as he goes faster and faster.

The stretch burns slightly in Louis' lower back, but it's what has Louis' cock twitching against the bed, pressed between his stomach and the mattress, leaking precome.

Louis reaches under his body, moaning at the first skin to skin contact on his dick, his hand moving in an awkward angle.

He cries out as Harry hits his prostate, pleasure running through his whole body and white heat building in his groin, pushing back to meet Harry, pushing forward to thrust into his hand, moving back to meet Harry …

They are both panting after a short amount of time, and they're loud, Louis knows that and he knows he's got neighbours, but he can't bring himself to care. His head is free of thoughts, the only recurring theme being _Harry_ , and _more_ , and _Harry_ , heat running down his body, so very sensitive to every touch, sweat building on his forehead, and cock hard and wet in his hand, precome gliding his jerky movements.

“Louis,” Harry moans, “fuck Lou – oh god,” he draws his words out, thrusting his hips into Louis', nailing his prostate every other time.

He cries out, thrusts become irregular as he fills the condom, sending Louis over the edge as well as the grip on Louis' hip tightens, fingers pressing into the skin.

Louis whimpers, Harry's name on his lips and head buried into the mattress as he spills over his hand.

“Oh Louis,” Harry says simply as he pulls out slowly, voice spend. Louis can see him discarding the condom out of the corner of his eyes, before Harry crashes down half on Louis, half on the bed.

His face is close to Louis' as he lies down next to him, one leg draped over Louis' body.

His expression is soft as he plants a small kiss in the corner of Louis' mouth.

Louis' right hand is still trapped underneath his body, wet and sticky with come and the wet-patch is anything but comfortable, but with Harry's face close to his and the softness of his lips on his own, Louis almost forgets about it.

But Harry doesn't, apparently, as he moves to stand after a few seconds, before disappearing into the bathroom and emerging with a wet cloth shortly after.

He tells Louis to turn around, and cleans him up carefully. Only when he deems himself satisfied, he moves back down to lie next to Louis again.

Louis is well aware that he hasn't said a single word in the last few minutes, hasn't even moved on his own. Harry's transformed him into a pile of goo, or so it seems.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, a genuine concerned look on his face.

It brings a small smile to Louis' lips. “Yeah,” he says, his own voice raspy and unfamiliar. “I'm really good.”

“Glad to hear that,” Harry says, pressing his lips to Louis'.

They kiss softly, lazy mouths moving against each other, lips dragging.

“So,” Harry starts, a soft grin on his face, “when you've recovered I'd quite like to suck that gorgeous cock of yours please.”

“Always so polite,” Louis mocks, but his dick does give a feeble twitch of interest. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Harry states, and that's what he does. He waits, bypassing the time with more kisses, fingers playing with Louis' hair, caressing Louis' face and upper body with soft hands and lazy kisses.

The innocence of it makes Louis' heart flutter.

The man in front of him is gorgeous, face flushed and lips swollen red from kissing, eyes dark, strands of his hair falling from his bun.

So different from just a few minutes ago, Harry takes his time to take Louis' body in, gentle touches causing Louis to shiver, goosebumbs all over his body.

Harry's lighter skin contrasts to Louis' more golden one, and Harry seems to genuinely pay attention to everything Louis, the light hair on his chest, the stubble of his beard and the curve of his stomach.

Louis squirms a bit under the attention, not sure what to do or what to say.

“Harry,” he starts, not quite sure how to continue.

“Hm?” Harry looks up.

They keep their eyes locked for a few seconds, before Louis breaks away, nervously laughing.

Harry removes his hand from Louis, and brings a bit of space between the two of them.

“I'm sorry, this is not really how one night stands usually go, is it?” he asks, mirroring Louis laugh. “I don't really do this that often.”

Louis huffs. “Yeah, me neither.”

“When was the last time you had sex?” Harry asks. “Sorry, not my place to ask, I'm sorry,” he adds quickly. “I'm just genuinely interested. You were just as desperate for every touch as me.”

Louis shrugs. “I know, its alright Harry. It's been a while, actually,” he says, turning his head to look at Harry. “Haven't been in a proper relationship since I was eighteen. It has just been a few guys since then.” He doesn't even know why he is being so honest.

“Don't you want to?” Harry asks. “Be in a relationship, I mean.”

Louis hestitates. “My life isn't really – I don't think I could fit someone in right now.”

Harry's lips quirk up. “Didn't you say earlier that your life was boring?”

Louis laughs. “I did. Still, it's not the time for a relationship for me.”

Harry rolls his body closer to Louis' again, the heat radiating from him hot on Louis' skin. “Well,” Harry says, “if you're not looking for something serious you are probably fine with some more mind-blowing orgasms from a stranger you just recently met, right?”

“Always,” Louis smirks, leaning forward from his position on the bed to line his body up with Harry's, still both as naked as the day they were born.

His dick hardens as Harry starts to kiss him fiercely, hot and dirty from the get go.

Their body's are as close as they can be, touching everywhere possible, hands roaming and scratching over shoulderblades.

Harry only waits a few minutes before he disconnects their lips and starts to kiss down Louis' body, leaving trails of wet kisses over his upper chest, teeth scratching over his nipples, kissing further down, sucking more lovebites into his inner thighs, until he finally, finally licks a long stripe up the underside of Louis' half hard cock before sucking the tip into his mouth, sucking until Louis is rock hard.

Louis let's out a moan at that, the heat engulfing him until he sees stars. Harry's tongue curls under the head, fingers play with his foreskin, moving it up and down, cupping Louis' balls. And then there's Harry's mouth again, taking him deeper and deeper until Louis hits his throat and he has to collect all his strength to not buck his hips up into Harry's mouth.

Harry sucks like his life depends on it, licking over the tip and curling his tongue, swallowing around the head, Louis writhing on the sheets beneath him, a string of moans falling from his lips.

Louis tangles his fingers in Harry's hair and pulls slightly to signal him that he's close. Harry disconnects his lips with a wet pop sound and takes Louis' cock into his hand, pumping him whilst licking around his balls.

Louis comes with a moan, fist clenched in the bedsheets and hips bucking, hot, white come spilling over Harry's hand.

“Fuck,” he pants, coming down from his high.

In his post-orgasm haze he only partly notices Harry once again cleaning him with the towel, and as Harry lies down next to him one more time, their bodies still as connected as before, Louis feels Harry's cock hard against his leg.

“Harry,” he brings out, “did you really get that hard from sucking me off?”

He can tell by the way Harry blushes that he's embarrassed, and no, Louis can't have that.

“I just really like cock,” Harry explains.

Louis kisses him desperately. “Don't worry,” he says, “It's hot. And I do too.”

He feels Harry smile against his lips.

“C'mere,” he says, pulling Harry's hips close. Without stopping to kiss him, he reaches between their body's to take a grip on Harry's cock, pumping him, using his precome to glide his motions.

It only takes Harry a few movements of Louis' hand until he comes, panting and moaning in Louis' mouth.

Louis cleans with the towel one last time, before falling onto his back.

“I'm fucking exhausted,” he says.

Harry hums in agreement. “I'm just really tired right now.”

It crashes on Louis down like a wave, his eyes closing, lids heavy.

“Can I stay?” he hears Harry asking, voice already distant.

Louis has no idea what time it is, can only tell by the fading summer light outside that it's a lot later that he thought it was and he would not say no to falling asleep right here and now, naked next to Harry. Technically.

Because he can't, he remembers. He forces himself to open his eyes again and sit up straight, trying to get rid of the need for sleep.

“No,” he says. “I think you should go.” He doesn't mean for it to come out quite as harsh as it does but the realisation that he can't stay with Harry like he wants to, downs him.

“Oh,” Harry says, sitting up as well now, “okay.”

He stretches his back, looking over to Louis.

When Louis doesn't respond any further, he climbs off the bed and reaches for his clothes dressing slowly but certain.

Only when he's fully dressed Louis looks at him. “Sorry,” he says, standing up next to Harry. He presses a soft kiss on the top of Harry's cheek, just underneath his eye.

Harry smiles, an honest, sincere smile. He doesn't say anything else though, just walks out of Louis' room. Quickly after the front door falls shut, and Louis is alone.

He sits down on his bed, burying his head in his hands.

Right, there are things he needs to do.

He goes through his usual night routine, writing a summary of his day down, including a note that he had sex with Harry. He chuckles as he writes it down, it will for sure be a surprise in the morning for future-Louis.

Only when he's done with everything he needs to do, he falls into bed again. The room smells of sex, of sweat and Harry. He doesn't bother with changing the sheets, only avoids the wet patches from earlier and cuddles himself under his duvet.

He feels a bit lost, alone after the time with Harry, wishes he could have him here beside him, something warm to cuddle and a heartbeat to hear besides his.

Maybe a kiss goodnight and if he's lucky even one in the morning.

Louis' chest aches, because he can't. He probably never will.

Tears are his lullaby to sleep that night.

  
  


***

  
  


The first seconds after waking up are bliss.

Rain drums against the windowsills, and the cold in the room causes Louis to pull his blanket closer to his body.

It's a smell that brings Louis to finally open his eyes.

It's a warm smell, personal, one that Louis doesn't recognise at all.

He jolts awake, sitting up straight in his bed.

Except it's not his bed at all. It's not even his room, nothing looks familiar. His gaze wanders over everything his tired eyes can catch.

He spots what looks like dried come next to him, a used towel on the floor next to a pair of black skinny jeans, an uncapped bottle of lube on the pillow.

Well, someone had a fun night, Louis thinks, moving away from the spots on the bed sheets in digust. A slight sting of pain shoots up his spine, and, oh. _Oh._

The realisation hits Louis, confusing him even more than he already is.

Did he – what happened yesterday? Why can't he remember anything? Was he drugged? Where on earth is he?

Panic washes over him.

That is until he spots a file on the bedside table. _Read Me_ , it says, so he does.

Minutes later, he understands.

Or maybe he doesn't understand, but he gets it. Or so he thinks.

Because of course it explains things, it makes sense, weirdly.

And at the same time it absolutely doesn't.

From then on it's a morning spend in confusion. Louis feels lost in the flat that is supposed to be his, in the body that is supposed to be his, in the life that is supposed to be his.

He reads over his life, learning about himself like he is a character in a book.

At least he now knows who's responsible for the mess in his bedroom because, apparently, he had a wild night with Harry last night. Whoever that might be.

He moves through his bedroom to clean, and kind of hates his past-self. He sheds the bed of the sheets and puts on fresh ones, opening the windows to get rid of the smell of sex and men.

He finds the shirt to the trousers in the living room, a wild night indeed. A shame he doesn't even know the guys last name. Knowing what he looks like would also be quite nice.

It's only when he sits down over a cup of tea that he lets everything sink in.

He has always thought of himself as a completely normal person – if there's such a thing as _normal_ – and in some way he still is.

But then there's his life and there is absolutely nothing normal about him anymore.

Just to make sure it isn't just a massive prank on him by one of his friends, he calls his mother after finishing his tea. Hearing her voice is so comfortable and so _normal_ to Louis that he ends up talking to her and the girls for over three hours.

As he walks through the flat, talking on the phone and absentmindedly looking over his own stuff, he spots a piece of paper sticked to the inside of the front door.

It's a phone numer, scribbled down hastily, a _call me? :)_ on the top.

Louis isn't quite sure what to think, what he is supposed to think, really, but calling his one night stand doesn't appeal to him.

There is no place in his life to let a new person in, no point in dealing with the daily struggle of trying to remember their face.

So he rips the piece of paper from the door, crumpling it in his fist before throwing it in the bin in the kitchen while listening to his mother talk about his sisters. He doesn't spend another thought on it.

  
  


***

  
  


It's Monday, and Louis spends his day taking inventory at a garden center.

He also manages to go food shopping after, craving sweets of any kind.

  
  


***

  
  


It's Tuesday, and Louis is bend over the toilet, emptying whats left in his stomach into the bowl.

He calls into work when he feels save enough to walk on his jittery legs again and not interrupt the phone call with projectile vomiting, and he manages pretty well. He's proud of himself.

He spends the day half in bed, half on the bathroom floor, and come afternoon he is feeling way better than in the morning.

He takes the time to read through the dozens of files he has stored in the flat, fascinated by how absurd his life is.

He reads over his last few days, and a couple of notes catch his attention.

There's a guy called Harry past-Louis apparently likes quite a lot, r _emember Harry, remember Harry, remember Harry_ , and from what Louis understands from his notes they slept together last Saturday, and that's where his name is referenced the last time.

There' no phone number in his contacts nor his notes, which is a bit dissapointing to Louis. Reading over what he himself has written about that person it seems like he doesn't want to lose contact to him, and he doesn't understand why neither of them has left a number to call. Well, maybe he was just shit in bed.

After not having lost his stomach contents for a few hours, Louis considers eating something, maybe he has some pretzel sticks somewhere in the kitchen.

He does, it turns out, a pathetic small amount, dried out and very much not edible anymore. Great.

To add to his luck, when he moves to throw the package away he stumbles right over the bin, causing it to fall over and spill its contents over the kitchen floor.

“Of fucking course,” Louis swears under his breath, as he leans down to pick up empty milkcontainers and chocolate paper. At least it's not something really gross.

Louis is not quite sure why, but a small ball of paper catches his attention. It's crumpled up, but the outside shows dark pen and handwriting, and Louis has always been a curious person.

He folds it up and is left with a series of figures, a phone number, and two words and a smiley at the top.

He does have an idea whose number it might be, but since there is only one way to find out, he gets his phone out of his room and sits down on the bed, dialing the number.

Someone picks up after three rings.

“'Allo?” a man says.

“Uh, hi,” Louis answers. He just goes for it. “It's Louis.”

The man on the other end seems to recognise him, so that's a plus at least.

“Louis,” he says excitedly, “I thought you wouldn't call.”

So it's the Harry guy? Probably Harry. Maybe not.

“Yeah but I did,” Louis states, deciding to play along with whatever the man gives him.

The man on the other line laughs. It's a loud laugh, sincere. Louis likes it immediately.

“I'm glad you did. Y'know you kicked me out so fast and when you didn't call I wasn't sure if everything was alright.”

So most definetely Harry.

“No, nothing wrong,” Louis says. _Louis thinks._ “It's just been a busy last two days.” Not true.

“Hm,” the guy – Harry – hums in agreement. “So how are you?”

“Good,” Louis replies automatically. “Wait no – that's not true. I've been sick all day but I'm alright now.”

“Oh no,” Harry sounds genuinely concerned, “take care of yourself please.”

“I am,” Louis says. “So how are you doing?”

“Tired,” Harry says. “I've been up since three in the morning.”

“Oh,” Louis laughs, “okay I think I'd be tired too.”

“And then this morning I knocked over a bowl of flour and it was all in my hair, it was a bitch to get out, you know how long it is. I looked like my grandpa.”

Actually, Louis has no idea how long his hair is. Or what his face looks like, for that matter.

Still, he laughs.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I just knocked over the bin in my kitchen.”

Harry chuckles on the other end. “I'm really happy you called,” he says after a moment of silence. Saturday night or not, I still want to get to know you better.”

“Yeah, me too,” Louis replies quietly.

“So what about I take you out then,” Harry says, “or dinner at my place on Friday?”

“Dinner at yours sounds great,” Louis says. “Text me address and time and I'll be there.”

“Will do,” Harry replies.

Perfect, looks like Louis just got his future-self a date.

  
  


***

  
  


Louis tucks at the hem of his shirt, nervous fingers searching for something to fiddle with, something else to concentrate on beside his thoughts going wild.

He swoops his fingers through his hair one last time.

He looks great – or so he thinks – because despite not being used to his reflection in the mirror he has spent more time than usual fixing his hair this morning, and it had taken him a while to find the clothes he is most comfortable with.

Because today Louis has a date. Apparently.

He's sure that him being nervous is just down to the fact that he doesn't know what to expect, and to being afraid of embarrassing himself in front of a person he apparently kind of likes. It doesn't make it any easier, though.

He raises his hand to the door bell anyway, pressing down on it for a second. He hears it ring behind the door, and from then on it's only the blink of an eye before the door gets yanked open.

He's met with loads of curly hair, green eyes sparkling, a grin wide on the man's face.

Harry is his name, Louis remembers, and almost automatically his brain rushes through all the information he has read this morning. _He works at a bakery with a woman called Greta, has an older sister and tattoos, the anchor holds a deep personal meaning to him. We baked cookies together at the bakery, he knows Niall and we kissed and had sex last Saturday. He likes to analyse people. Don't mess this up._

“Hey,” Louis greets, a smile uncertain on his lips.

That is only until Harry lunges forward, pulling Louis into a hug. He smells warm and clean, freshly showered. It's not a scent Louis recognises. Not that it means anything that he doesn't, from his perspective he's never met Harry before after all. Still, the certainty of Harry's hug as he holds him tight leaves Louis feeling safe somehow, not at all like he would with a complete stranger hugging him.

“Hi,” Harry says as he lets go of Louis again, stepping back into the flat and gesturing Louis to come in.

It smells like food, Louis realises, as he steps into the flat, something cooking on the stove in the kitchen. Music is playing quietly in the background, a song Louis has never heard before.

“So,” Louis says, feeling like he should say _something_ , “this is your flat then.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “my place. Feel free to look around, I did at yours so it's only fair if you get to do the same thing.”

“Well I would like to know the story behind _that_ thing.” Louis points at the giant stag head decorating the opposite wall from where he is standing.

Harry chuckles. “Yeah it's not real. My sister bought it for me as a joke. I don't think she thought I'd actually use it. But it makes a great clothes rack, doesn't it?”

Louis tilts his head. “It does, yeah,” he says smiling.

He catches Harry looking at him for a few seconds, before Harry runs his hand through his hair. “Right,” he says. “Now come on in properly. Shoes off.” He pointedly looks at Louis' feet before leading the way into the living room. Louis follows closely behind.

The table is set beautifully with a candle in the middle. Huh, Louis hasn't expected something quite this romantic. But then again, he wasn't really expecting anything.

Harry seems nervous as he pushes his hand through his hair one more time. “Dinner should be ready in a few,” he says. “I wasn't quite sure how extreme to go with this but I figured why not? So it's gonna be a proper candle light dinner if that's okay with you.”

Louis is hopelessly endeared by the tall man in front of him, nervous about what Louis might think.

He gives him an reassuring smile. “That's more than okay with me. It's been a while since anyone has done something like this for me.”

Harry nods. “Okay. Make yourself comfortable, will you? I'm gonna take a look at the food.”

Louis nods in agreement and sits himself down on one of the chairs at the table. He's impressed, really.

“Do you want something to drink?” Harry calls from the kitchen. “I have some wine but whatever you want. Water maybe?”

“Water sounds great,” Louis calls back.

A minute later Harry emerges from the kitchen with a jug of water. He places it in front of Louis and points to his glass. “Gimme a minute,” he says with a smile, before leaving for the kitchen again, only to return shortly after with the food.

It's delicious. For someone like Louis who usually lives off pasta, bread, cereal and maybe some potatoes, the food Harry has prepared overwhelms Louis' taste buds.

And not only the food surprises Louis but also how easy conversation starts to flow between the two of them. Louis tries to avoid personal topics, and once Harry has catched on Louis relaxes more and more into the situation. It's easy being with Harry, how they both laugh over each other's stupid jokes and can discuss the importance of a good wall paint a second later. Which should be boring but it isn't. Or maybe it is, but Louis doesn't care when Harry is the one talking, doesn't care when Harry seems so happy talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It's lovely, is what it is.

“So,” Harry says, once they've finished their meal and are sitting on the sofa, feet entangled, both giddy on wine. “It's good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “It is.” _It's good to meet you_ , he adds in his head.

Harry fumbles with his fingers. “We had sex a week ago.”

“That we did.”

Harry looks up from his fingers, his eyes scanning Louis' face before looking down again. “To be honest I think that was a bit of a mistake,” he says. “No wait that's not what I meant. Or it is, but not really. It's just – I'm not the type for a one night stand. I realised when you didn't call back and I figured that was it, I would never see you again. Because that's not what I want at all. I want to get to know you better.

“But we _have_ slept together, and I can't forget these things. How -” he blushes a little, which, _very endearing,_ “- how it feels to be inside you, how your face looks when you come. And I want more of that. I know we only met a handful of times but I think it's only fair to let you know that I want more out of this in the future. Not right now, obviously, we hardly know each other, but I'm kinda hoping we could get somewhere one day. But you said you are not looking for a relationship, so. I guess I kinda regret sleeping with you.”

One more time Harry catches Louis' eyes, and he takes a deep breath after his little monologue, waiting for Louis to reply.

“I don't,” Louis says. “I don't regret having sex with you.” Maybe because he can't remember, but he's not going to tell Harry about that. “But I guess you're right. I'm not in the place in life for a relationship of any kind right now.”

Harry nods. “Okay. Can I be your friend then? I really want to be your friend, Louis.”

Louis lets out a laugh. “You know the last time someone asked me that I was in primary school,” he says, his laugh fading into a fond smile when he sees Harry's dimples showing on his cheeks. “But yes you can. I'd quite like to have you as a friend.”

It's weird. It feels so weird to Louis because he knows how hard it is to let anyone new into his chaotic life but how could he ever say no to someone like Harry? He knows the right way to handle a new friendship or any new person in his life would be to tell them everything about his condition, but somehow he can't tell Harry. He doesn't want to be the freak to him, doesn't want to be the guy who remembers nothing and who it's so hard to keep a friendship with.

Not telling Harry makes it so, so much harder, but at the same time a lot easier as well.

“Great,” Harry says, smile wild and genuine. “Don't think I'll be able to forget the sex, though,” he says.

“Mhm,” Louis hums, because oh, he has already forgotten. But that's not what Harry wants to hear right now. “You don't have to,” he says instead. “Keep it in your memory forever, if you want to. But no funny business anymore, we can't have you properly falling for me if we know it ends nowhere,” he says, voice somewhat mockingly.

Harry huffs out a breath. “Yeah alright,” he says.

“Now that we have that sorted out,” Louis says with one eyebrow raised, “I'd like to use the toilet, please.”

Harry chuckles. “Sure. Bathroom is just down the hall,” he says, pointing towards the door.

Louis nods, untangling their legs and walking into the direction Harry has showed him. He finds the bathroom easily enough, not that there are many room to chose from anyway, finishes his business quickly so to speak and goes to wash his hands.

The soap is formed like a rubber duck, and Louis smiles as he takes it in his hands. How very Harry, he thinks. He catches his own reflection in the mirror and is like so many times taken aback for a second.

“This is me,” he whispers to his reflection. “It's only me.”

He sets the rubber duck back again and dries his hands on a towel. When he gets back to Harry in the living room, Harry has made himself more comfortable on the sofa, sagging into the cushions.

Once Louis has found his place on the cushions as well, conversation easily begins to come back. It's so easy to fall back into listening to Harry's stories, though, that Louis doesn't quite realises how late it's getting with every minute passing.

Only when it's short to midnight he is brought back to his senses. Louis knows he really has to get back home before he accidentally falls asleep on Harry's sofa, which would be all sorts of wrong and potentially a disaster in the morning.

So he pushes himself up, says his goodbyes to Harry and makes his way home.

When he falls into bed that night he is exhausted since it's been one of the most eventful and emotionally charging days he has had in probably quite a while.

Sleep feels like heaven.

  
  


***

  
  


Probably the scariest and weirdest thing of all the scary and weird things happening in Louis' life is that he doesn't know his own body.

Well of course he does, the four years he has lost have not completely changed him. He looks almost the same, but its the little things that feel like they don't belong to him. A little scar on the side of his right hand which he doesn't remember getting, light hair on his chest which feels so wrong to Louis, the stubble on his face. It looks good though, Louis has to admit, so he doesn't bother shaving it off.

Still, Louis feels betrayed by his own body. It's proof for the years he has lived through without remembering, proof for aging, and it's a witness for all the weeks and months Louis has lost.

There's also the fact Louis has changed over the years somehow. There are more dark clothes in Louis' wardrobe than four years ago, and the flat he is living in is not decorated the same way nineteen year old Louis would have chosen to.

And even though it feels weird at first, Louis does feel comfortable in his new clothes, his new style of living. It's different, but it's alright. Or so he likes to think. Because today is a good day, and today none of the things in his life feel like they're drowing Louis.

It's a Saturday, and Louis feels content just lying on his bed, reading a random book and listening to the rain pouring down the windows outside. It's a proper storm actually, with the wind whipping through the trees, bending them into weird shapes and thunder rolling in the distance.

The somewhat relaxing sound of the storm is disturbed by Louis' phone ringing, just as Louis is about to turn the page.

“Hello?” he answers, without taking a look at the screen first.

“Louis? Hi.” The voice seems to come from a distance, wind blowing through the speaker. “It's me Harry.”

Louis sits up straight. He has read over the name a couple of times this morning, and information begins to ratter through his brain. Harry. Right, Harry, he knows who he is.

“Hi Harry,” he says. “What's up?”

“Uhm just -” the voice cuts almost off, “- I'm just down the street of where you live and the bus is not coming and I would walk but the storm doesn't seem like it's stopping anytime soon and it's just so windy and cold and wet, could I come to yours for a bit? Just until the weather has calmed down.”

Louis turns his head to look out of the window. Harry is right, the sky is just as dark as before, dark clouds shielding the sunlight. It doesn't look like it's going to clear up anytime soon.

“Uh yeah sure,” he says, not quite as certain as he tries to sound.

Harry sounds relieved. “Oh thank god,” he says. “I'll be there in a few minutes, thank you.”

“Of course,” Louis says, before hanging up.

He lets his eyes wander over the furniture in the bedroom. There are only a few sticky notes on various drawers, and he rips them off with ease. Same with the living room and the hallway, but when he turns to the kitchen there are just too many for Louis' liking. He peels them off anyway before storing all the sticky notes in a drawer, just in time for Harry to knock on his door.

Louis wouldn't have spend a single thought on Harry if he hadn't called, so it's a bit overwhelming to suddenly be confronted with the task of remembering and not embarrassing, and just genuinely being a _normal_ person.

He takes a deep breath before opening the door to a very wet, and very beautiful man. And he almost fails right there at trying to act normal when he stares at Harry for a solid minute. Or less, hopefully.

“Hey,” Harry greets with a warm smile, as he wipes his shoes on the doormat. Water is dripping from his long hair, and his cheeks are red from the wind and the cold. “Can I come in?” he asks as Louis doesn't move.

“Yeah sure,” Louis mumbles, taking a step back.

“I'd hug you but I don't want you to get wet,” Harry says. “Thank you for letting me in on such short notice I just really didn't want to stay out there for any longer.”

“It's fine,” Louis says, and he realises he must sound quite stupid for not saying any sentences longer than two words.

When Harry shuts the door behind him and peels his shoes off and Louis still hasn't said another word, Harry cocks his head to the side. “Everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Louis says. “Sorry, just not quite with myself today I guess.”

Harry nods, which causes water to run from his hair down his face. He scrunches his nose. “Do you have a towel for me by any chance?”

“Yeah sure,” Louis says, making his way to the bathroom, happy with something to do. He returns with the towel and Harry dries his hair and face as best as he can.

“Thank you.”

With an awkward silence they move to the living room, and Harry hestitates as Louis sits down on the sofa.

“My jeans are wet,” he says. “Not sure if that's good on the white sofa.”

Only then Louis realises him shivering a bit, the wet fabric clinging to his body in all places.

“Give me your clothes,” he says. “I'm gonna put them in the dryer if that's alright and I'll give you something of mine to wear while you wait.”

“It's not really a problem I can just sit somewhere else,” Harry replies.

“It is a problem. I can't have you getting sick.” As if to underline his words, Louis stands up and goes to his bedroom, pulling various items from his wardrobe. “Go on, get naked Harry,” he calls through the hallway.

He goes for the biggest pair of joggers he has, and a wide tshirt, taking Harry's and his height difference into consideration.

When he returns to the living room, Harry has indeed followed his words and stripped down to only his pants. His body is lean but muscular, with soft hips and thighs. Louis has to fight himself not to check him out. It's difficult, though.

Harry grins as Louis catches his eyes. “You're checking me out,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“'M not,” Louis replies. “Don't get ahead of yourself.” He hands Harry his clothes, and picks Harry's up from the floor. “I'm gonna put them in the dryer,” he says one more time before he leaves the room.

The next time Louis enters the room Harry is no longer half naked, which Louis counts as a plus – or maybe not – and he's cuddled up on the sofa in Louis' clothes, a light blanket wrapped around his long legs.

“To be honest I didn't think I'd see you again this soon,” Harry says after Louis has found his place beside him. “It's good.”

“Mhm,” Louis hums in agreement. It is in fact good to see Harry. How could Louis not want to see his beautiful face as often as possible?

Harry's eyes scan over Louis' face, his expression thoughtful. “You're not really talkative today, are you?” he asks.

“I don't really – I don't really know what to say,” Louis replies after a few seconds, trying to be as honest as possible.

“But it's all good between us, right?” Harry asks. “I'm sorry for showing up on your doorstep uninvited, I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

“No, no.” Louis is quick to assure. “No not at all. I like having you around.” He shoots Harry a small but sincere smile. “I don't feel uncomfortable around you at all.” Which he should, feel uncomfortable, that is. He should not feel this good next to a stranger sitting on his sofa wearing his clothes. But he does.

He might be a bit quiet today, but he is certainly not shy. If anything he's just unsure of what to say, since Harry seems to know him quite a bit and all Louis knows are the words he has written down the days before.

“Good.” Harry says. He swings his legs down to the ground again and stands up, walking over to the window behind Louis. “It looks like the world is ending out there,” he says, looking over the street underneath. “Thank you for not letting me die out there.”

From where Harry is standing Louis can see his backside as he stares outside the window. Louis' shirt is still a bit small on him, stretching over his back and not quite reaching the waistband of his joggers. It might even be a bit to small on Louis, which was not what he was going for. It looks good, though, Louis has to admit. Not his worst choice.

When Harry turns around again, Louis' glance wanders from his lower tummy up to his face, blushing a little as he sees Harry smirking.

“Oh you were totally checking me out,” he says, as he walks closer to the sofa. “I thought we agreed on no funny business.”

He stops right in front of Louis, so Louis is eyelevel with the small strip of skin between his shirt and his trousers. He's so close he can make out the light trail of hair going south. Louis' insides squirm.

“Honestly,” he says, “I don't remember saying that.”

Harry looks down at him, eyes scanning his face. “But I do,” he says. His voice sounds uncertain somehow, as if he's debating what to do, unsure of how to continue.

Not Louis, though. No in this moment Louis knows exactly what he wants, terrifingly certain in his needs.

With a jolt of braveness Louis doesn't know where it's coming from, he lifts his arm, using his thumb to carress the skin showing above Harry's waistband. “Then forget about it,” he says. He dips his thumb just underneath the waistband, not moving his hand anymore.

Harry's eyes seem just a tad darker when Louis looks up to him.

“Louis,” Harry says in a soft voice. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Don't know,” Louis says truthfully. “It feels like a really good idea, though, doesn't it?”

He stands up, which turns out to be quite difficult in the small space between Harry and the sofa, and ends up closer to Harry than he expected, his thumb still hooked behind Harry's sweats.

“Yeah,” Harry says, his voice somewhat hoarse. “It does.”

Louis' eyes are fixed on Harry's lips, his wide pink lips slighty chapped from the wind.

Harry is the first one to move, leaning forward and crashing their lips together. It's not soft nor is it carefully but somewhat desperate and needy from the first second on.

Harry's finger find their way into Louis' hair, pushing him closer as their lips move together. For Louis it's fireworks and explosions the same as butterflies and the need for more, _just more please_.

He lets go of Harry's waistband in favour of wrapping his arms around his waist, digging his fingers in Harry's lower back, just above the slight curve of his arse.

There's no taste on Harry's tongue that reminds him of anything, no taste of peppermint or anything fresh. It's just Harry, the warm, comforting taste of Harry in his mouth, the drag of his lips against his own, and the touch of his still cold and damp skin underneath his fingertips. It's just Harry, and it's the best thing Louis could ask for.

Somewhere along the heated kiss Louis slips his fingers up the back of Harry's shirt, digging his nails into the skin in an attempt to bring Harry closer. _Closer, please, more more more._

Harry lets out a small whimper at that, immediately pressing his full body against Louis with such a force they both start tumbling as the back of Louis' knees hit the edge of the sofa. They fall back onto the sofa ungracefully tangled together but with a laugh on their lips as they crush into the cushions.

When they've sorted through the mess that is their tangled limps, Harry sits up on Louis' lap, cradling Louis' face in his hands.

“What now?” he asks. His lips are swollen red from kissing, slick with saliva and his face is flushed. For Louis it's not really a question what he wants to happen next.

“More?” Louis replies with a question, searching for a reaction in Harry's eyes.

“And after?” Harry asks, “what happens after? We said just yesterday we wouldn't do this anymore because it would be easier for the both of us.”

Louis bites down on his lower lip. “Right now I can't imagine it being easier not to kiss you again,” he says, his eyes darting from Harry's eyes to his lips and to his eyes again. “I don't care about after or tomorrow I just know that I want to kiss you again.”

Harry leans forward until their foreheads are resting against each other. “But you should. We both should. Because tomorrow is going to happen and it's not good if we're not on the same page in the long term.”

Louis has trouble concentrating on Harry's words when Harry seems to be all there is. Close, so close.

“We're on the same page right now, though, right?” He tilts his chin forward and pecks a small kiss to Harry's lips. “Just one more time. And we can deal with this after. Tomorrow. In a few days.” Yeah right. Let future-Louis deal with all of this, because present-Louis really doesn't feel like thinking this through properly right now.

“I guess so,” Harry murmurs against Louis' lips, his breath tickling on Louis' face as he speaks.

“Good,” Louis says, just before closing the last distance between their lips, shutting his eyes and letting his feelings take over.

Kissing Harry feels so intimate as if the two of them are the only people existing on this earth, here, feeling each others bodies and lips, tasting and trying and breathing close, _so close._

Louis outright moans as Harry buries his fists in Louis' hair, tucking him closer.

“Lou,” Harry breathes against Louis' mouth in between kisses, the nickname sending a shiver down Louis' spine.

Louis' hands wander over Harry's back, sliding under the shirt and under the waistband of his joggers and his pants, until they're resting on Harry's bare arse. He grips into the flesh, ripping a groan from Harry and spreads his hands over his arsecheeks.

It causes Harry to rock his hips against Louis in small motions, the angle awkward and causing him to grind against Louis' thigh.

Louis can feels Harry through the fabric of the joggers, can feel his hardening length as Harry pushes his hips forward. He feels big, and Louis' imagination leaves his own cock twitching in his jeans.

When he feels Harry's hand leaving his hair and trailing down his body until he presses the palm of his hand against Louis' crotch, his hips stutter forwards into the touch, trapping Harry's hand between their bodies.

They're both moaning when Harry kisses down Louis' neck only to bite into his collarbone with a force that is sure to leave a mark. Blood rushes to Louis' groin with every bite and lick of Harry's tongue, with every grinding motion against his thighs and every moan or whimper coming from Harry. It's so, so good but not enough at the same time.

How could it when they're both still fully clothed and Louis' hard dick is trapped in his tight jeans. How could it when Louis still hasn't had Harry's cock in his mouth.

So he moves his hands from Harry's ass and takes a grip on his hips, pushing him up while trying to roll himself on top of Harry, changing their position.

It only works when Harry gets the hint, complying to Louis' action.

When Louis is the one on top, he kisses Harry one more time, soft, without any force, before he slides down the sofa until his head is eyelevel with Harry's crotch.

Harry lets out a whimper at the indication of a blowjob, pushing his hips up to make it easier for Louis to pull his trousers down.

And Louis does, pulling his sweatpants down until they're nestling at Harry's feet revealing a pair of long, slim but muscular legs, thighs peachy dusted by sparse hair. Harry's cock is visibly straining against the fabric of his tight boxer briefs, a tiny wet spot forming where the tip of his dick must be.

Louis aches to pull Harry's pants down as well, aches to get his mouth on his cock and give it the well deserved attention, but when he's presented with thighs so beautiful he can't let them go without any praise.

So he kisses up the inner side of Harry's thighs, sinking his teeth into the flesh and sucking at the marks, feeling Harry's legs tremble as he opens them further to give Louis better access.

By the time Louis has kissed and marked his way up Harry's thighs, Harry is a whimpering mess underneath him. Louis mouth is ghosting over Harry's length through the boxers, not quite touching, but he is sure Harry can feel the hotness of his breath through the fabric.

“You like it when I'm being a bit rough with you, don't you?” Louis asks, looking up to Harry through his lashes. “When I bite down into those lovely thighs, marking you? You love feeling that sting of pain, I can see how it gets you hard and makes your dick twitch.”

Harry's answer is a whimper. “Yeah,” he breathes out. Louis can tell he has trouble finding the right words. “Yeah I love it when you do that.” Harry's hands are gripping into the fabric of the sofa beside him, his knuckles white from how tight he is holding on.

“Mhmm,” Louis hums against Harry's still clothed length. “I like it too.”

His fingers dip behind the waistbamd over Harry's pants one more time, and then he pulls them down to reveal Harry's cock, which lies down on Harry's stomach, hard, flushed and heavy, leaking precome at the tip.

Louis doesn't bother pulling the boxers further down then Harry's thighs, not when he has Harry's cock right in front of him.

He lets it rest of Harry's stomach as he licks over the thick, pulsing vein, curling his tongue as he reaches just underneath the head. It rips a deep moan from Harry, and Louis can tell he is fighting the urge to push his hips up into Louis' touch.

“Fucking hell,” he pushes out as Louis licks over the tip of the head, sucking it into his mouth.

Saliva runs down the length of Harry's dick as Louis works his way further down, and Louis takes a hold on the base of Harry's cock to steady him as his throat closes more then one time around the thickness in his mouth.

Harry is big, bigger than any cock Louis has ever had in his mouth, and he struggles going down as far as he would like.

So he concentrates on the tip, sucking the head into his mouth and curling his tongue around it. Harry's cock lies heavy on his tongue as he goes to swallow him down one more time, and as Louis hums around the dick Harry lets out a loud moan, slighty pushing his hips into Louis' mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry mumbles in between moans, throwing his head back with his eyes shut close as Louis bobs his head to take more of him in every time.

Louis moves his hand to cup Harry's balls, strokes over the coarse hair lining his crotch and presses his fingertips into the soft skin of his thighs.

It's not long until Harry is a literal mess underneath him, thighs trembling and kicking whenever Louis curls his tongue in _just_ the right way, and Louis' name is falling from Harry's mouth more times than not.

“Lou,” he chants, “I'm gonna – fuck, Lou.”

Louis pulls off just in the last second, but a streak of come still hits his lips and chin as he jerks Harry through his orgasm with his hand.

“Oh my god,” Harry pants as he comes down from his high, his hips stuttering into Louis' fist.

His face is flushed as he opens his eyes and his pupils are so far dilated only a hint of green is visible.

Louis uses his thumb to push the come on his chin into his mouth, tasting Harry. When he figures it is not too bad, he raises his other hand as well, the one completely covered in come where Harry's spilled over his fist, and licks between his fingers until it's all clean again.

Harry swallows visibly at Louis' action, his eyes fixed on Louis the whole time.

“C'mere,” he says when Louis is done, his voice strained. He connects their lips in a soft kiss, licking over Louis' lips and probably tasting himself in Louis' mouth, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything he just pulls Louis closer, pecking his lips and running his thumb over his cheek. “Lou, Lou, Lou,” he says in between kisses, holding Louis' face close.

“Harry,” Louis answers against his lips with a smile. He moves a bit on Harry's lap, avoiding to sit on Harry's softening dick and as the seam of his jeans rub against his crotch, he is reminded of his own straining erection somehow still trapped in his too tight jeans.

Harry seems to notice as well, as he smirks against Louis' lips and reaches between their bodies to grab a hold on Louis' dick. He fumbles with the zipper for a moment before reaching behind the waistband of Louis' pants and tucking his erection free.

The angle is awkward, what with Louis' jeans only opened and still fully on his hips and their upper bodies pressed close together, but the touch of Harry's hand on his cock feels like heaven. It only take Louis a few tucks of Harry's hand until he is panting against his mouth, more breathing than kissing.

And when he comes he comes with a cry of Harry's name, spilling over Harry's fist and his stomach. His head falls into the crook of Harry's neck, resting in Harry's hair, breathing in the scent that is Harry and the rain.

After a little while of comfortable silence, Harry makes Louis take his shirt off, and uses it to wipe them both clean. They also somehow manage to both tuck their softening cocks into their respective places and it leaves them cuddled close together on the sofa, Louis still halfway in Harry lap, resting his head on his chest.

It's getting darker outside with every minute, and although Louis realises somwhere in his muddled brain that the rain has calmed down, he can't bring himself to move his head from Harry's chest, not when he can hear his heart beating. So relaxing.

Tha-thumb. Tha-thumb. Tha-thumb.

It's getting dark before Louis' eyes. Tha-thumb. Tha-thumb. Darker, always darker … Tha-thumb …

  
  


***

  
  


Louis awakes with a jolt, as someone underneath him moves.

The first thing he notices are his cramped up legs as he tries to make sense of the little space, but even as he opens his eyes all he sees is darkness. Only little light falls into the room and the soft sound of rain drings into Louis' ears.

Again someone underneath him moves a little as Louis tries to sit up, and as his eyes fall onto the person sleeping underneath him he practically jumps up until he's standing in front of a sofa which he does not recognise. In fact, there is nothing in this room he recognises. There's only darkness, darkness and the panic that washes over Louis.

There's the man, a man who's face he has never seen before and who looks slightly older than Louis is, and – _oh God_ – he doesn't remember anything. There is nothing, _nothing_ , in his brain that would explain why he was sleeping on top of a stranger in a flat he doesn't know, there is _nothing_ where there should be yesterday, nothing, absolutely nothing.

He's also not wearing a shirt, Louis realises, and his fingers and his stomach feel sticky. Louis lets out a whimper as he moves backwards until he hits a wall, tears building up in his eyes.

The man turns in his sleep, and Louis moves back even further when the stranger opens his eyes. He should run, he should run somewhere. He doesn't know who that guy is, maybe he drugged him and – _oh God, what if he raped him –_ and why can't Louis remember anything? He should run, but where to? He has no idea where he is, and even with the adrenaline rushing through his body he is frozen in place.

He watches in horror as the stranger lets his gaze wander through the room until his eyes find Louis.

“Louis,” the guy says in a sleepy voice, “what are you doing over there?”

When Louis does nothing but stare back at him he seems to shake off the sleep and sits up straight. “Louis?” he asks, “is everything alright?”

“Who are you,” Louis whispers, tears now positively running down his cheeks.

“What?” The guys asks, seemingly confused and now way more awake then only seconds ago.

“Who are you,” Louis whispers again, twitching in his place at the wall as the stranger stands up and takes a step closer to Louis.

“I don't – I don't understand,” the guy says, moving closer to Louis, far closer than Louis would want him to. He reaches out to touch Louis' arm, and finally the adrenaline in Louis' body seems to do its job, letting Louis move.

“Don't touch me,” he says with a stern voice, much, much louder than the whisper before.

“Lou -,” the stranger says, now obviously completely confused and somewhat hurt. Not that Louis cares.

Louis takes a few more steps away from the guy, sliding along the wall.

“Leave,” he says, his eyes burning holes into the stranger's skin. “Don't touch me,” he almost screams as the guy tries one more time to hold onto him. “Leave before I call the police,” he says, his voice getting louder with every word until he is practically screaming. “Leave!”

Tears are still running down Louis' cheeks as he brings more distance between him and the guy.

“Louis,” the guy says, his voice breaking, and Louis feels a shiver running down his spine at the sound of his name on the guy's lips. It feels wrong, so so wrong that the guy even knows his name. “Louis talk to me please.”

“Help,” Louis screams as loud as he can from the top of his lungs as the stranger manages to grab a hold on Louis' shoulder, a firm one as well. “Help!”

At least that seems to freeze the stranger in place, or even more so, it causes him to drop his hand and take a few steps back. He too, just like Louis, is now crying.

“Shh,” he says, taking a few steps back and bringing his arms up defensively. “Okay, okay,” he says. “It's alright, I'm gonna leave.” His voice sounds strained as he backtracks to the door quickly.

His clothes are looking ridiculously small on him, Louis realises, as he sees the guy slip into his shoes in the hallway. He doesn't bother tying them up before shooting one more glance into Louis' direction, looking really goddamn hurt.

But all Louis can feel is relief as the door falls shut behind the man, and he slides down the wall to sit on the floor, his knees to his chest.

He is still so completely lost.

He doesn't know where he is, and to be honest he doesn't care to find out in this moment, not when he suddenly feels so, so alone in this world, completely lost in his whereabouts, his memories and his life.

Somehow nothing feels real, no memory he has ever lived feels real because it all seems like it happened so long ago.

More tears run down his face and he curls himself into a ball, desperate to just leave, leave somewhere but he doesn't know where, because what even is real? What exists and who can he trust if he doesn't even trust his own brain?

Emptyness washes over him as he cries his eyes out, not able to focuse on a single thought. He cries and he cries until he can't anymore, and then he sits in silence watching the opposite wall, unable to move.

A sharp knock on the door brings Louis back into the present.

“Louis,” he hears a voice call through the door, “Louis it's me, Niall.”

Niall. Little blond irish Niall, best friend since their childhood. His voice sounds so familiar it aches in Louis' chest. The only thing that somehow hurts even more is that Niall is _here_ , Niall is here and that means this is real life, Niall knows, knows something Louis doesn't and _why is Niall here?_

“Louis,” he hears Niall's voice again, “Louis open the door, it's me. It's alright, I promise.”

Finally, finally Louis seems to be able to move again, standing up on his legs and hestitating before walking to the door and opening it.

The first thing that happens even before he is able to properly take Niall's face in, is that he's crushed into a firm hug, Niall holding on to him like he doesn't intend on ever letting go.

It screams so much of familarity and feels just _so_ normal, that for the first time since Louis woke up he is able to relax a bit.

The second thing that happens when Niall does choose to let go, is that Louis' heart drops to the floor as he looks at Niall. He looks old, so much older than he remembers, so different from the way Louis expected.

And the third thing that happens is that Niall grabs Louis' hand and drags him into the living room again, sitting him down on the sofa where Louis and the stranger where sleeping before.

“Louis,” Niall starts. “Do you know where you are?” he asks.

Louis shakes his head, trying to focus on the only thing that seems to ground him, the soft touch of Niall's hand on his arm.

“Okay. You must be really scared right now,” Niall says. “I'll explain the situation to you, okay? You just have to promise me one thing, don't freak out. It's alright, I promise. I'm here. You still know who I am, right?”

This time Louis nods. Of course he remembers. An unease feeling flutters in his stomach as he waits for Niall to continue.

It only gets worse with every word Niall is saying, with every word he talks about an accident and head trauma and amnesia, when he talks about Louis' life and all the changes, about his flat and his friends and siblings. When he tells him he looks different now too, older, because he is twenty-three, not nineteen anymore.

After his monologue Niall takes a deep breath. “Are you okay, so far?” he asks, still holding onto Louis' arm.

“I don't know.” Louis says, his voice strained from crying and screaming. He feels like crying some more. But he doesn't.

“The guy,” Niall continues, “the guy who was with you earlier, his name is Harry. He told me what happened, and called me right after he left your flat. He was crying, Louis, he could barely say a word. I didn't tell him about you I think that's not my place. But I promised him to look out for you. I don't know whats going on between you two because no one ever tells me shit, but I'm sure you'll find something about him in your notes if you look through them.”

“My notes?” Louis asks, still so confused with everything that's happening.

“Yeah. You write everything down, pretty smart actually. I'm gonna bring them to you, alright?”

Louis nods, and Niall moves through the flat until he retrives with his arms full of files and notebooks.

“This is what you read every morning,” he says, pointing to a thick brown file, “if you need any further explanation. And this is your notebook of all the people you meet or know, all the little things you don't want to forget.”

Louis takes said notebook into his hand, flicking through the pages. More tears build up in his eyes as he reads over the Harry guy, because he apparently likes him quite a lot, and Louis is so sure he has hurt him with the things he said earlier.

And it hurts, because even if – and that's a big if – Harry understands and wants to stay close to Louis, even if that happens this will always be where they are in the morning, Harry will be a stranger and Louis will spend a good few hours every morning just trying to remember what his face looks like, or what type of flowers are his favourite and if he likes to be the big or little spoon.

There is just no way Louis' life will ever be anything considered normal, there is no way anyone would ever want to stay close to him. Niall really is a blessing to come over to Louis' at arse-o'clock in the morning to explain all of this to him.

But Niall doesn't have to be there every morning, not even he could stand that. Louis is alone, completely alone in his life and his world, because really, it doesn't seem like any other person could ever fit into his life.

When Niall leaves shortly after to ' _get some more sleep_ ' and Louis is left alone again, though this time way less lost in everything that is his life, he goes through his notes over Harry one more time.

There's a phone number scribbled down onto the corner of the paper, and Louis considers calling and trying to explain.

It's three o'clock in the morning but Louis is sure Harry is still awake. So he grabs his phone and dials the number.

He takes a deep breath. It rings. He waits.

 

 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your lovely comments xxxx  
> and thanks again to Isi for being the best beta :)

**Two**

  
  


“Louis.” The same voice Louis has heard a few hours before when he was screaming and threatening with the police, the same voice Louis has heard sounding confused, than hurt, and then just plain sad, is answering the phone. Harry, Louis knows now.

This time there's none of that, though, not a trace of sadness in the voice. It sounds emotionless almost, as if Louis' name is just a random word.

“Harry,” Louis says, choking up a bit when he remembers the hurt in Harry's eyes only a few hours ago.

“Hi.”

“Harry,” Louis says one more time, as if repeating Harry's name is a calming mantra. It is, kind of. “I am so sorry for earlier. Let me explain please.” His voice breaks. “I want to explain,” he adds, whispering.

“Go on, Lou.” This time the voice sounds softer.

“I can't. Not over the phone. It's kind of a long story.”

There's a pause. Then: “Do you want me to come over?”

“Please.” Louis' voice is barely a whisper.

Half an hour later there's a soft knock on the door, and Louis lets the man he has kicked out of the flat only hours before back in.

This time his clothes seem to fit, though, and his hair is tied up in a bun. Now that Louis knows who he is he can tell how beautiful he is, with his green eyes and wide mouth and legs that seem to go on forever. But more than anything he looks tired, exhausted.

Louis' heart sinks a little when he realises he is probably part of the reason.

“Hi,” he says, trying to get his mouth to smile. He is sure he fails.

Harry doesn't greet him but looks at him carefully as if he's partly expecting for Louis to scream at him again. And Louis' heart sinks a little more.

“Come in, please,” Louis says, leading Harry into the flat.

This time he goes for the kitchen, though, not wanting to spend another minute in the living room where so much happened this night.

When Harry sits down at his small kitchen table, still not having said a word but watching Louis' every move, Louis rumbles through the kitchen in search of something to do. He wants to explain, but he doesn't know where to start.

“Tea?” he asks.

Harry nods slowly. “Sure.”

So Louis turns around, looking through his kitchen in search of the equipments for the tea. He fills the kettle with water, but then he's lost.

He looks at Harry. “Where would you keep your mugs?” he asks, and is met with the most confused expression he has ever seen. He would laugh if he didn't feel like dying inside.

“The cupboard,” Harry says, pointing behind Louis.

Louis hums in agreement, opening the cupboard Harry has pointed to and takes two mugs from the shelf.

“The tea?” he asks.

“That box,” Harry says, pointing to a metal-y container.

And again he is right, and Louis finally manages to pour himself and Harry a cup of tea. He sits across from Harry, and for a few seconds he doesn't say anything, just stares at the steam rising from his mug.

“When we woke up,” he starts, “it was the first time I ever saw you.” He looks up to meet Harry's eyes and finds him already staring, emotionless but observing eyes trying to follow Louis' words. “I forget. I forget every night.” He's not sure how to continue, so he just stops, hoping for a reaction from Harry.

It's silent for a few seconds. “You forget?” Harry asks, and his voice is shaking a bit.

“Yeah. There's nothing. Nothing from before I fell asleep. I can't tell you what day it is and even the year confuses me, I don't even now what I look like because I haven't looked in the mirror today.”

“You forget.” This time it's a fact, a statement.

“Yeah,” Louis says again. “The first time we met, can you tell me about it?”

Harry looks at him for a second but then he nods. He talks slowly. “It was a Sunday, two weeks ago, and I was working at the bakery. You came in and ordered some food and a coffee. We didn't really talk but I remembered you because you seemed nice and I think I was just the tiniest bit infatuated. And the next day I was shopping at the garden center and ran into you and you didn't remember my name nor that we met the day before.”

“I'm sorry,” Louis says. And he honestly, thruthfully is. “And I still don't remember. Not the first nor the second time we met. I know -,” he wraps his hands around his mug, “- I know that it happened and I know we met in the park and baked cookies, and I know we had sex that night. I know about the date on Friday, but only -” he pauses and avoids eye contact, “- only because I wrote it down. Only because I read about it before I called you. But I have no idea why you were here yesterday, what we talked about and what happened after, why we fell asleep on the sofa.”

Harry breaks the silence after a minute or two. “You really don't remember.”

Louis shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I had an accident when I was nineteen, and I had brain trauma. I lose my memory when I go to sleep. Every night.”

Harry closes his eyes. With every second he stays silent, Louis' heart starts to beat faster. How could he ever think someone would just understand, how could he ever think he could keep Harry in his life after this, how could he when his life is so fucked up, how could he -

And then Harry opens his eyes again. He takes a deep breath before standing up and walking around the table. When he's in front of Louis he leans down until they're somewhat at the same height, and he takes Louis' hand from his mug and clasps it between his bigger ones.

“Louis,” he says, bringing Louis' hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. “Oh Lou.”

Tears are building in Louis' eyes again, his heart feeling like it's about to jump out of his chest.

“Lou,” Harry says one more time, and now he is crying, too. “Come here,” he says, wrapping his arms around Louis, tucking him close into his chest.

They're both sobbing by the time Harry leans back again.

“You're not – you're not leaving?” Louis says, his voice breaking and his eyes burning. He has cried too much already.

“No. No I'm not,” Harry says, cradling Louis' face in his hands. “Let me show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Yesterday.”

And with that Harry pulls Louis up, grabbing his hand and leading him into the living room. The files Louis has read with Niall are still clattered around the sofa, but Harry simply picks them up and places them to the side without sparing them a second glance.

He sits them both down on the sofa, still holding Louis' hand in his.

“I came here yesterday,” he says, “because there was a storm outside and I wanted to wait at yours 'til it was over. So I came here and you gave my dry clothes and we sat down. We started kissing shortly after, making out right here on this sofa. Things got a bit heated and you gave me a blowjob and I got you off as well. Sorry if this is a bit much to hear,” he adds.

“No. No, go on.”

“We fell asleep. Well you did first and I wanted to leave because the last time you didn't want me to stay over, but I guess I fell asleep before I really got the chance. When I woke up you were standing there, and you looked so, so lost and I wanted to calm you down, I swear that's the only thing I wanted to do but you started crying and screaming and I didn't know what was going on. I couldn't help you so I left. And I was so hurt because I thought I did something wrong that I considered just leaving you be and going home. But I remembered how scared you look and I knew something was wrong so I called the only person we both know, Niall. He is a saint for picking up at one in the morning, and even more so for calming me down. He promised he would look out for you and told me to just go home, which I did. I was still so confused and hurt and most of all scared for you, though. And then you called.”

There's a pause. “I don't remember,” Louis starts, “but I think I like you quite a lot,” he says.

Harry shows a small smile. “I remember. And I know I like you quite a lot, too.”

Another pause. “So now you know,” Louis says.

Harry squeezes Louis' hand. “Yeah. And it explains a few things so I'm glad to know.” He locks eyes with Louis. “When you say there is no place in your life for a relationship, is this what you mean?”

Louis hums in agreement. “I honestly don't see how this could ever work.”

“You've never tried, have you?”

“No. I can barely function from day to day with only myself in my life, how could that ever work with another person?”

Harry lets his fingertips run underneath Louis' eyes, wiping a few lonely tears away. Louis knows his eyes are red and puffy, knows he has cried more today than he can remember to have ever done.

He finds himself in Harry's arms seconds later, cradled against his chest with Harry's fingers playing with his hair. He feels a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Do you maybe want to try?” Harry asks.

Louis concentrates on Harry's heartbeat. It's calming.

“Harry,” he says simply. “I wouldn't even know you existed when I wake up, let alone that we're together.”

“We don't have to make it complicated. I don't want to leave you, Louis,” Harry says. “And if that means I have to introduce myself to you everyday, then so be it.”

“My life is complicated.”

“Then maybe another person by your side is exactly what you need.”

Louis shuffles a bit closer into Harry's embrace. “You know, you said you were infatuated the first time you saw me. So was I. Every single first time I saw you.” He let's out a huffed laugh. “Well, maybe not when I woke up today. Today I was just scared.”

Harry mirrors his laugh. “I don't look very scary, do I?”

“No you don't,” Louis agrees. “Not at all.”

“Good. I'm so sorry for earlier. I'm sorry for pushing you.”

“You had no idea,” Louis says. “And maybe it makes it easier for you to understand. Understand what it's really like when I wake up and have no idea what's going on.”

“So you want to try?”

Louis hestitates. Yes, yes he wants to try. Harry is saying the words Louis so desperately wanted him to, Harry is here with him and he wants to stay, wants to try, and Louis wants it so bad but somehow he thinks he can't.

He's not sure he can deal with everything that comes with Harry being his boyfriend or even just another close person in his life. He's not sure he wants to go through all of it everyday, he's not sure how it's supposed to work.

In what kind of relationship does the boyfriend not know about the little things of his partner? The kind of cereal he eats? How he likes his tea? What food he likes and when they last had sex? And, oh god, Louis doesn't even want to look further into the future. He'll never have kids. Never. And he doesn't see Harry staying with him for the long term, either, doesn't see why he would stick around through years and years with Louis.

And Louis is not sure he wants it, either. The charm of a long term relationship is the familarity, right? The feeling of the other person being _home_ , knowing every little thing about them. He doesn't want to fall in love every single day. Or, yes, he does, but he also wants to be able to deeply _love_.

He swallows around the lump in his throat.

“When you say ' _try_ ', what do you mean?”

“I mean doing our best to make this work. No, I mean _making_ this work. Because I know we could. I don't want to walk away from this without giving it a chance.”

“I don't either,” Louis whispers into Harry's chest. He feels Harry smile into his hair.

“It's Sunday,” Harry states. “I don't have work and you're already awake. I don't know if you're tired but I'm not. We could have the whole day together.”

“Please,” Louis says.

Harry keeps him close for what feels like an eternity, not that Louis is complaining. He feels safe, knowing Harry knows all about him and is still here. For now. Because it works today.

“I think our tea has gone cold,” Harry says at some point, prompting a little laugh from Louis.

“Yeah, probably.”

“D'you want me to go make a new one?” Harry asks. “And to be honest I could use something to eat.”

“Right, sorry,” Louis says, pulling himself from Harry's chest. It's not an easy task. “I'm a bit of a shit host. Come on.” He stands up from the sofa and leads Harry back into the kitchen.

“Niall said I have -,” he starts, opening various drawers before he finds what he is looking for. “Perfect,” he says.

“What is it?” Harry asks, curiously.

“I usually have these all over my drawers and stuff,” Louis says, holding up a stack of sticky notes. “I must've taken them down before you came over yesterday.”

“That's really smart,” Harry laughs.

Louis grins and starts to open the cupboards to see what's inside to return the sticky notes to their rightful place.

With Harry's help they're quickly done with all of the flat, which makes it a lot easier for Louis to prepare them some breakfast. It's five fifteen in the morning, not the usual time for Louis. Harry seems to be quite content in the peace of the morning though, and they eat their breakfast in comfortable silence, their legs hooked underneath the table.

“When did we go to sleep yesterday?” Louis asks, when they've finished eating and sit at the table with a freshly made cup of tea.

“Really early,” Harry says. “I'd say around five? So me must have had a good seven hours of sleep. I'm surprised we even managed to sleep that long all cramped up on the sofa, and you were still wearing your jeans, and I'm sure we still had a bit of come on our bodies.”

Louis snorts. “I haven't even showered yet. Do I smell like sweat and sex? Poor Niall.”

Harry smiles, dimples showing. “Nah, it's fine. But you should probably shower at some point today. And there's still a come covered shirt in your living room somewhere.”

Louis groans. “Great,” he says. He finishes the last rest of his tea. “I'm gonna go shower then. I'll be quick I promise, make yourself comfortable.”

He's not as quick in the shower as he promised. But he can't really blame himself, not when the hot water calms his body and gives him time to think about everything that happened today and everything that happened the days before, time to think his life through in some way.

And when he's out of the shower he spends some time in front of the mirror, trying to take his own reflection in. It's weird, it's definitely weird, but now that he somewhat knows what he's expecting he's prepared for a few differences in his face from what he is used to.

It's not too bad, it's just – different. Older. A good kind of older, definitely. His cheekbones are way more prominent and his stubble gives him a kind of a manly look, different from looking like a twink like he did when he was younger. He likes it, once he's gotten used to it.

He squirms a bit at the thought of looking into the mirror in ten, twenty, thirty years, or even more. This is still him, he can see it, but how will it be when he wakes up every morning in the body of a seventy year old when he's expecting his nineteen year old self?

Louis shrugs his thoughts off, dresses himself and gets back to Harry in the kitchen who is looking through the pictures on the fridge.

“Are these your sisters?” he asks, pointing to a picture of Lottie and Fizzy.

“Yeah. It's from earlier this year,” Louis says. “That's one of the worst parts, feeling like I don't know my siblings anymore.”

Harry looks at him. “I'm sorry,” he says.

“Don't be. I don't need you to pity me. I kinda wish you wouldn't.”

Harry nods. “Can I kiss you instead?” He tilts his head to the side, smiling softly at Louis.

“Hm I think I'd like that.”

“Come here then.” Harry pulls Louis forwards until their bodies are close, kissing him careful but with intent.

It surprises Louis how well they fit together, how good it is from the get go. But then again it's not their first kiss, even if it may seem so for Louis.

They brake apart after a little while, resting their foreheads together.

“Do you wanna go watch the sunrise,” Harry says against Louis' lips. “We should be just in time.”

“That's such a sappy thing to do,” Louis laughs. “But yes, please.”

“Hey,” Harry says, drawing the word out laughing. “It's calming. It's so nice to see the start of the day.”

“Come on then I don't want to miss it,” Louis says, taking Harry's hand and pulling him through the hallway into the living room and to the window. It's more of a door almost, with how it reaches from the floor to far above Louis' head. There are bars just behind the window keeping them from falling down, and Harry and Louis lean against the cold metal watching how the colours of the clouds change from grey to a soft pink to orange back to a soft grey again. It's still cold in the morning but the heat of Harry's body besides his stops Louis from freezing.

“I'm not sure if you know that I usually work early on sundays,” Harry says into the silence of the morning. “So I'm kind of a morning person.”

“I can see why. I'd love mornings if they weren't so goddamn early.”

Harry barks out a laugh that seems to surprise him as much as Louis. “I think that's the point of them.”

“You might be right on that one,” Louis says, leaning against Harry who goes to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head against Louis'.

“I'm glad you allow me to be in your life,” he whispers.

“I'm glad you want to be in it,” Louis replies.

“Of course I do. I'd be a fool not to.”

And as the sun finally comes up behind the horizon, rays of light crawling over the buildings, Louis feels more safe than he has in quite a while.

  
  


***

  
  


Louis' phone rings.

He has just finished his morning tea, cramped over his notes on the kitchentable but he knows who it is. It's written down on the paper in front of him that he will call at six thirty, every morning.

“Hello?”

“Lou, hey love. It's Harry.” The voice is unfamiliar.

“Yeah I know, it says so on the paper.”

Harry chuckles. “Yes. I just wanted to check if you were alright and wish you a good morning.”

“I'm fine I guess,” Louis says. “And thank you. I hope you're good too?”

“I am. I work at a bakery not far from you and I've been up for a while. I hope you've also written down that you'll be coming over to mine later?”

“I have. It says right after work.”

“That's right,” Harry says. “I have to get going but I'll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis says. His voice sounds a bit weak. “Harry,” he adds after a second thought, “does this really work?”

There's a pause. “Us? It does. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Louis smiles but Harry can't see that. “Thank you,” he says.

“You don't have to thank me for anything.”

“I do, though.”

“Louis. You don't. I'm glad I'm here with you, do you understand me?”

Louis hums in agreement.

“I hope you have a great day at work, love. Tell Liam I said Hi, okay?”

“Will do. Harry?”

“Yes Lou?”

“I'm looking forward to seeing you later.”

“I do too, Lou. I really do.”

  
  


***

  
  


Later that day after Harry and Louis have ordered and eaten takeaway they're cuddled up in Harry's bed. It feels weird, somehow, to be as affectionate with a person Louis hardly knows, but then again it's Harry and he's been his boyfriend for quite a while now.

Eight months, to be precise, and apparently things are going great.

And Louis can tell, with how Harry is treating him, gentle and considerate but in no way like a charity case or something close to that.

If anything, being with Harry lets Louis feel like any other person. Like there's nothing strange about him or his life. Harry's not the only one who's trying to make things as normal as possible for Louis but he certainly is the one who suceeds the most.

Earlier when Liam had shown him everything at work treating him like every other person, Louis thought it wouldn't get any better. But it did. Because Liam still had that understanding pityful look in his eyes. Not Harry though.

Harry doesn't just try to understand, he does. But he also doesn't walk on eggshells around Louis, avoiding any conversation about memories of the past days, weeks or months like Liam does. No, Harry talks, fills Louis in where he is missing information. He makes him feel like he has actually lived the last days, makes him feel included in his own life.

And there is nothing more Louis could wish for.

It's almost unfair, actually, how comfortable Louis is around Harry. He's not sure he should be, and he's not sure what he did to ever deserve someone like him but here they are, cuddled up in bed because Louis wouldn't want to waste any space between the two of them if he didn't have to.

And neither does Harry, and with their legs tangled together and Louis' face pressed into Harry's chest Louis feels as if he might die from happiness.

“My mum called earlier asking if she'll ever meet you,” Harry mumbles into Louis' hair. “I'd love for you to meet her but only if you want to of course.”

“Have you told her much about me?” Louis asks.

“Yeah kinda. I like talking about you. But I haven't – I asked you before and you didn't want me to tell her about your condition.”

“I'd like to meet her,” Louis says after a little while. “But I still don't want her to know.”

“That's alright. It's not that important anyways it's not like you're gonna see her everyday.”

“I'm sorry I'm making you keep things from her,” Louis says. “Like I can imagine this whole thing to be hard on you too.”

“Lou,” Harry says, placing a kiss on Louis' forehead, “you seriously don't need to apologise for everything. It's all good, I'm good and so are we, I promise.”

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but he's interrupted by Harry. “And don't even think about thanking me,” he says, now kissing the corner of Louis' mouth.

“But I –,” Louis starts, but once again Harry cuts him off.

“No,” he says sternly, locking eyes with Louis. “I feel so incredibly happy and lucky to be here with you, and to have you in my life. I'm not a saint for caring about you or treating you like any other person. You don't have to thank me because there is no place I'd rather be then beside you. I wouldn't have it any other way, do you understand me? Don't thank me for loving you.”

“You love me?” Louis whispers, and his heart feels like it might burst.

Harry's mouth curls into a soft smile. “I do. I really do love you.” More soft kisses land on Louis' mouth, and after a few of them Louis sighs, cupping Harry's cheek and pulling him in for a deeper one, one with moving lips and tongues.

Kissing Harry is like he's never done anything else for the past months, and in a way he hasn't.

He might not remember what it's like to kiss Harry or the way he likes to be kissed, but it's muscle memory somehow. It feels like a first kiss and simultaneously like he has kissed him for all his life, because they fit, they fit so easily and nothing about it seems awkward. It's familiar, is what it is, familiar and so, so good.

“So about my mum,” Harry says after what feels like an eternity of kissing, when he is curled halfway on top of Louis, fingers caressing Louis' chest. “If I ask her to visit me in the next few weeks will you come over for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “And if we're doing that I think you should meet my mum, too.”

Harry stills for a second. “I already have. And your sisters, too. About a month ago.”

“Oh okay,” Louis says. “Tell me then. Did they like you?”

“They loved me,” Harry says, visibly easing into the conversation.

“I hope you're not just saying that because you know I wouldn't know better,” Louis chuckles.

“I'd never,” Harry says. “Really, Jay is a lovely person and your siblings are all so affectionate. We basically spent the day in a massive group hug. I have pictures if you'd like to see.”

Louis smiles. “Please.”

Harry reaches behind him for his phone. He pulls a picture up, one of himself and Louis. Lottie and Fizzy are laughing into the camera over Harry's shoulder, and he's kissing Louis' cheek.

They look cute together, Louis thinks. It hurts a bit, knowing he has lived the moment but needs a picture to let him know it happened, but he smiles nonetheless.

“I don't think I wrote down that you met them,” Louis says, after thinking a while.

Harry clears his throat. “Yeah. I know. That might have been my fault.”

“Why is that?”

“Well,” Harry starts, “that night when we got back to yours we were a bit – occupied with certain things and we both fell asleep. We really need to work on that. Anyway, I was gone before you woke up and I called you the next morning explaining why you didn't have any notes about the day before and I guess you just never wrote it down. Sorry,” he says, looking up to Louis with a sheepish grin.

“I hope we had at least a fun time before we fell asleep?” Louis asks, not taking any offence in Harry's words.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, swiping his thumb over Louis' bottom lip before placing a soft kiss in the corner of his mouth. “'S so good with you,” he murmurs. “Always so good.”

Louis brings their bodies closer together by pulling Harry in with his legs. “Tell me about it then,” he says. “What did we do?”

“You really like it when I tell you about all the things I'd do to you, don't you,” Harry says against Louis' mouth, voice mere a whisper, “or the things I've already done, the things you've already done.”

“I do,” Louis whispers back. He feels blood rushing to his groin as Harry rolls them over until he lies on top of Louis, bodies flush from the hips downwards. He's hovering above Louis, holding himself upright on his arms next to Louis' head. His body completely engulfs Louis, leaving him feeling smaller than he actually is. A few strands of Harry's hair fall into Louis' face, and he pushes it back behind his ear with his fingers.

“I know,” Harry says. “I've figured that out months ago.” His lips are barely an inch from Louis'. “We kissed,” he starts. “we were all over each other from the minute we stepped through the door. The clothes were gone before we even reached the bed.” He stops there, eyes roaming over Louis' face, still not touching him for real.

It tingles in every cell of Louis' body, how Harry is close but still not quite _there_ , and every fibre of his being aches for the touch. And since Harry doesn't seem to do anything about it, Louis takes the matter in his own hand.

“Oh for God's sake Harry,” he pushes out, before tangling his hands in Harry's hair and pulling him down to meet his lips, the kiss bruising and so, so desperate.

They may have been snogging only minutes before, but that doesn't mean that Louis is satisfied, that he doesn't want more of it. Because he does, he really, really does.

He sighs as the sweet taste of Harry is on his lips again, and it takes them both quite a while to break apart again in the desperate need of air.

Harry stares at him from his place just inches above Louis, pupils blown wide.

“And you were lying on the bed completely naked,” he continues to tell from his memory, voice slow. “And even though we were both rock hard and desperate for friction, we just kissed and kissed. And my hands were in your hair,” he copies the action, “and I kissed down your neck, biting and sucking a little.” He chuckles. “You kind of hated me the next day because you had to go to work with lovebites visible everywhere. You were struggling to keep still underneath me when I sucked on your nipples,” he reaches down to give said nipples a tweak through the fabric, causing Louis to inhale deeply, “and you were begging me to get my mouth on your cock.”

Louis bites back a groan. “Sounds like you're a bit of a tease in bed,” he says, eyeing Harry closely.

Harry grins. “Sometimes,” he says, mouthing along Louis' jawline, “and you love it.”

“What then,” Louis says as he feels Harry leaving a wet trail of kisses along his neck.

“I sucked your cock into my mouth,” Harry says simply, reaching down to cup Louis through his jeans. Louis hisses at the contact. “Going down all the way just the way you like it.”

Louis swallows. His dick twitches underneath Harry's touch, hardening with every second. “I think I'd like it if we would repeat that some time soon.”

“Whenever you like,” Harry whispers into his ear, running his hand over the lower part of Louis' stomach. “You came in my mouth that day,” he continues. “And after you came down I fingered you open, slowly, and you were so fucking sensitive it took you no time to get back to full hardness again. You were moaning like a champion, I'm surprised your neighbours didn't complain.”

Louis can imagine. He does tend to be quite loud sometimes, and even now from listening to Harry's words and feeling his touch he can't stay quiet.

“Any you were pushing back onto my fingers, writhing against the mattress. And when I pulled my fingers put to put the condom on you turned us over until you were the one on top. You were so desperate you pushed yourself down on me immediately, moving your hips and fucking yourself on my cock. God Louis,” Harry groans, “seeing you like that was so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock taking from me what you wanted. So fucking hot,” he mumbles.

His hips twitch down at that, grinding against Louis and they both moan as they feel each other through the fabric.

“Harry,” Louis says, in between moans as the continue to grind against each other, “have we ever done it the other way around?”

Harry looks at him for a second like he doesn't get the question. “No,” he says, as he understands, “never. I've always been on top.”

“Do you want to?”

Again Harry looks at him for a second, seemingly uncertain. “I think I do,” he says eventually. “I want to try it all with you.”

Louis' lips break out into a smile, pushing upwards to meet Harry's in a kiss.

“I've never, though,” Harry says. “Like with anyone.”

“So I'd be taking your virginity of some kind?”

Harry laughs. “I guess so.”

The next few minutes are just spend with kisses, desperate but still so soft, and touches, needy but tender.

“Why haven't you?” Louis asks after a while. “Tried it, I mean,” he clarifies.

“I don't know,” Harry says, tracing his fingers across the stubble on Louis' chin. “I think with my first boyfriend it just was the way it was, we were so young we didn't really experiment with any other options. And later I guess – I don't know I think I was just more comfortable that way, you know, not making myself so vulnerable for other people.”

“Mhm,” Louis hums. “And we've never – I've never asked you before? We never talked about it?”

“No,” Harry admits. “It's easier, you know, keeping things the way I know you're comfortable with. Especially in the beginning of our relationship I was so unsure how far I could go with changing things.”

“Just talk to me Harry,” Louis whispers. “I know it doesn't really make any sense since it'll all be gone in the morning but I'm still here, you know? I'm here right now and I want to know things. And I want to tell you things.”

“I know,” Harry replies, equally as silent. “I know,” he repeats, planting a kiss on Louis' lips.

Louis can feel him smiling. “So,” Harry says after a moment, “are you gonna fuck me now or what?”

Louis skahes his head slightly, laughing. “Hm if you ask so nicely,” he says, before responding to the kiss with a deeper one.

Over the time of them talking and not really giving any attention to their cocks, Louis' dick has begun to soften, but as his hands start to roam over Harry's body as he licks into his mouth, it quickly fills up to full hardness again.

Louis takes the initiative, squeezing his hands underneath the waistband of Harry's jeans. It's not easy with them being so tight but he manages, spreading his hands on his arsecheeks and guiding Harry to grind down on him.

At some time in the midst of a heated kiss Harry pulls them both upwards into a seating position, hands roaming over Louis' chest and tucking at his shirt. He pulls it over Louis' head and copies the action with his own. When they're both naked from the hips up and their dicks are visibly straining against their trousers, Louis takes his time to take all of Harry's appearance in.

There's a butterfly inked on his stomach, and several other tattoos lining his left arm. Two fern tattoos accentuate his hipbones and the trail of hair going from his navel into his trousers gives Louis an idea of what's hidden underneath the fabric.

The black ink moves with Harry's muscles as he stretches his arms upwards, tying his hair into a bun. It only seems to bring out Harry's facial features even more when there's no hair falling into face, jawline sharp and cheekbones getting more prominent.

Louis' squirms with the overwhelming need to touch and kiss, and before Harry has the time to react Louis throws himself against him, knocking them over so that they're lying the wrong way round on the bed.

Louis can tell it takes Harry by surprise, and he wraps his arms around Louis' waist, holding him close as he laughs.

“Jesus Christ, Lou,” he says, a smile wide on his face.

“Sorry,” Louis grins, “couldn't wait any longer.” He presses a small peck to Harry's lips before moving downwards, following his hands which are trailing all over Harry's body.

He leaves kisses and bites all over Harry's skin, determined to find out about every little freckle and birthmark, wants to map his body out and burn the image into his head.

His fingers fumble with the button of Harry's trousers and he struggles a bit with peeling the tight fabric from Harry's long legs. When he does manage to get rid of every piece of clothing on Harry's body, he's presented with a gorgeous, handsome, extremely fit and also visibly turned on man. Louis' dick twitches in his jeans in excitement of what's yet to come.

His trousers feel to restraining for Louis' liking, so he pulls them off without taking his eyes from Harry, who's just lying there, patiently waiting for Louis' next move.

Louis gets his mouth on Harry's thighs as soon as he's naked, sucking and biting into the soft flesh of Harry's inner thighs.

There are already lovebites there, older ones, colours fading into nothing, and Louis' brain goes wild at the thought that he's the one who put them there, that he has so obviously done this before.

He sucks Harry's cock in his mouth sooner than later, though, moaning around the thickness on his tongue. He can tell how Harry likes it best by the sounds leaving his mouth, a loud moan and a twitch of his hips indicating how good the swirl of Louis' tongue feels.

Louis wets his finger in his mouth before going back to sucking Harry, pushing it just behind Harry's balls against his hole, fingertip massaging his rim and pushing in to the first knuckle.

Even though he thinks Harry could take it, with how responding he is to just the tip of one finger, Louis doesn't dare to do more without any kind of lubrication. So he leaves it at one finger for the beginning, resting it inside of Harry with just the tiniest of movements, little crooks and wiggles while he concentrates on licking over the head of Harry's cock.

“Lou, more please,” Harry huffs out. He looks beautiful with his eyes closed and head thrown back ever so slightly, hips circling in the search of more of Louis' fingers.

“Mhm,” Louis hums with a smirk, “If you ask so nicely. Where's your lube?”

“Bottom drawer,” Harry mumbles through a intake of breath, as Louis flicks his tongue.

Louis extracts his finger from Harry's dry hole, moving to get the lube and condoms out of the drawer Harry pointed to. He finds what he's looking for easily enough, and quickly coats his index and middle finger with lube before settling between Harry's spread legs again.

This time it's easier to push the first finger in, and not soon after he adds a second one along the other.

He looks up to Harry through his lashes as he works his mouth around the base of Harry's cock, licking along his balls and kissing over his previous lovebites while he works his fingers into Harry.

He works a third finger in easily enough after a little while, Harry taking the stretch without any complaint.

“But surely you've tried this before, right?” Louis asks, as he feels Harry pushing back on his fingers.

“I – I tried fingering myself a couple of times,” Harry admits. “But it's not the same,” he hisses when Louis crooks his fingers, “it's not the same when it's someone elses fingers. Fucking hell, Lou,” he moans.

Louis figured he's found Harry's prostate when a shudder runs through the body underneath him, little moans falling from Harry's lips.

He takes his time moving, thrusting and scissoring his fingers until they move in and out with ease and he thinks Harry is ready. “Are you good, Harry?” he asks.

He takes the frantic nodding from Harry as a yes, and he extracts his fingers from him one more time, reaching for the condom.

He regrets not putting it on earlier as his lube coated fingers fail to open the package, and it takes him a few tries commentated by Harry's giggles until he has rolled it on and lubed himself up.

Louis pulls Harry in by his hips, taking a hold of his legs and placing them around his waist. On a second thought he also reaches behind him and guides Harry to place a pillow underneath his hips, and then he finally lines himself up.

His hands move across Harry's stomach and chest, reveling in the touch.

“Come on Louis,” Harry says after Louis has taken his time to take all of Harry in with his eyes.

“Alright,” Louis laughs, using one hand to guide the tip of his cock into Harry. “You're beautiful,” he says before he pushes in for good, overwhelmed by the heat and tightness of Harry.

They're both moaning by the time Louis has buried himself deep in Harry, and he stills as they lock eyes.

With Harry spread out underneath him, stretched open by Louis' cock and with more trust in his eyes than Louis could ever muster up, everything seems to freeze into place.

There is no time where they are, no yesterdays and tomorrows, nothing but just them, here and in this moment.

There lips connect in a soft kiss, no heat behind it. Just familarity and trust, butterflies and something else entirely Louis can't explain.

“You can move,” Harry whispers against Louis' lips, and Louis does, carefully moving his hips in small motions until he's sure Harry is alright.

The heat in Louis' groin picks up again as he fucks himself deeper into Harry, aiming for his prostate and succeeding as Harry cries out his name, over and over again as Louis nails the same spot deep inside him.

Louis loves how Harry goes pliant underneath him, letting Louis do as he pleases and taking everything Louis gives him.

Harry's voice is strained as he tries to speak. “I can -,” he interrupts himself with a moan, “I can definitely see the appeal behind this.”

“Yeah? You're taking it all so good babe,” Louis presses out as he continues to thrust into Harry.

Harry whines at the compliment, pushing his hips back to meet Louis. He sneeks his right hand between their bodies to get a hold of his cock, pumping his fist as he chases his orgasm.

“It's so fucking good, Lou,” he brings out.

Louis groans in response, feeling the familiar heat building in his lower stomach as he watches Harry moving his hand over his own length, tucking and swiping his thumb over the tip.

Louis' fingers dig into Harry's hips as he holds him in place, snapping his hips forwards. “We should do this more often then,” he says.

“I'm gonna – I don't wanna come yet,” Harry pushes out, squeezing his eyes shut as he removes his hand from his cock.

“Mhm,” Louis hums, wrapping his hand around the base of Harry's cock and squeezing. He stays still, buried deep inside of Harry.

On a second thought he pulls out completely, which has Harry whining underneath him. “Come on then,” he says, pulling them both into a seating position. “Turn around,” he prompts.

It takes Harry a few seconds to understand what Louis means, but then he turns around so his back is flush with Louis' chest.

Louis leans back on his arms, giving Harry better access, and guides Harry's hips over his own. With Harry's help he eases himself back in until Harry is sitting fully on Louis' lap, cock buried deep inside him.

Louis sneaks his hand over Harry's thighs and gets a hold of his dick. “Go on,” he whispers against Harry's neck, and soon after Harry is fucking himself on Louis' cock.

The angle seems to work, as Harry cries out every time he sinks down or does as much as move his hips in little figure eights, and more precome blurts out of the tip of his cock and over Louis' hand.

Harry's body is warm against Louis', and Louis can't help but run his hand over every inch of skin he is presented with.

He feels Harry's thighs tremble underneath his touch and Louis can tell Harry is once again close as he feels his skin sweat and his voice crack.

Harry's whole body twitches when he comes, and he lets his weight fall against Louis' chest. He spills over Louis' hand and come dribbles down his length, and Louis does his best to not let them both stumble over.

Louis can feel Harry squeezing around Louis on instinct, and it doesn't take Louis more than a few seconds until he is following after Harry, filling the condom deep inside him with a cry of Harry's name.

After a little while, when Louis has cleaned them both up and discarded the condom, they're cuddled underneath the blanket with their legs tangled.

“So, is this a thing we might do more often?” Louis asks. His voice sounds rough and strained, deeper than usual.

“It's definitely an option now,” Harry says. “But I still like fucking you, too.” Louis can feel him smile against Louis' chest.

“Hmm,” Louis hums to agree. His fingers are playing with strands of Harry's hair, kneading where the bun is more lose. He smiles when Harry practically purrs against him.

“So you're gonna ask your mum to come over sometime soon, then?” Louis asks.

“Yeah. And my sister too if you don't mind?”

“No, of course. I'd love to meet your family. Your sister, how old is she?”

“She's three years older than me.”

Louis snorts. “Harold I don't even know how old you are.”

Harry smirks. “Right. I'm twenty-two, she is twenty-five. And you're twenty-four.”

“Jesus I'm getting old considering I was nineteen just yesterday.” Louis sighs.

“Already with one foot in the grave,” Harry agrees, poking Louis' chest. “Grey hair everywhere and all the wrinkles, it's awful.”

Louis laughs, pushing Harry off of his chest. “You're awful, I hate you,” he laughs.

Harry grins back, fighting to get his place on Louis' chest back. “No you don't. You love me.”

As quick as the laughter came it is gone again. “I might. But I wouldn't remember,” Louis says. It's a more honest and straight-forward answer than he would have liked.

“I'm sorry,” Harry backtracks, “it was just a joke, it was stupid I know. Hey, I'm sorry Lou.” His fingers caress Louis' face.

It annoys Louis how emotions seem to change so quickly for him, but it's not like he can help it.

“No, I'm sorry,” he says. His voice is quiet. “I might never be able to say it back to you, you don't deserve that.”

“Lou,” Harry says, making sure Louis understands and believes him. “We already had that today. I don't want you to apologise for anything. Not for something that isn't your fault and not in our hands, we are good, do you understand me?”

Louis nods after a few moments of silence, and then he buries his face in Harry's neck. “I don't deserve you,” he mumbles. “You're too good for me.”

Harry's voice is quiet but determined when he speaks. “You deserve everything that is good in this world. And if you think that is me than I couldn't be more glad. I feel honoured you allow me to be here with you.” The rest is almost quieter than a whisper. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  
  


***

  
  


_**Three years earlier.** _

“ _Louis?” a voice calls through the flat, and Louis can hear the sound of the front door shutting. “Are you awake Louis?”_

_It's not a voice Louis recognises, not that it means anything. He's still in bed, duvet covering everything but Louis' head and he turns around with a groan._

_This morning he woke up with a headache, blood thrumming unpleasantly behind his forehead. Everything he had to read after he woke up didn't really help with the pain either, and now Louis wants nothing more than just sleep._

_But that's not an option, he figures._

“ _Louis?” the voice asks one more time, and from his bed Louis can see someone peeking through the half open door. “I didn't know you were still in bed, I'm sorry,” the man says. He might just be one of the most handsome men Louis has ever seen, dark hair pushed into a quiff and facial structure so prominent and well structured Louis isn't sure he is real and not just a product of his imagination._

_It helps, though, that Louis has seen his picture this morning, glued into his notes._

“ _It's alright, Zayn, I've been awake for a bit. Done all of my reading,” Louis nods to the file lying next to him. “Just have a bit of a headache.”_

“ _Oh,” Zayn exclaims, walking over to Louis' side now that he knows Louis won't kick him out for being a stranger. “Is there something I can do for you babe?” He leaves a trail of kisses on Louis' forehead._

_It's not uncomfortable, not really, but it's not really soothing or relaxing either. It feels a bit weird, with how Louis knows he's supposed to know this person but feels like he doesn't at all._

_Zayn is his boyfriend, after all, and has been for three months. Not that Louis can put anything to that timespan, not a feeling, not a single emotion. It's just a number, and even though he knows he can and should trust Zayn, he is not sure if he's able to._

“ _No. I just want to sleep to be honest,” Louis replies._

“ _You know you shouldn't, right?” Zayn says, and his warm eyes are close to Louis' face. God, his eyelashes are a dream._

_Louis voices his answer with a hum and a little nod._

“ _But if you want to I could stay with you, on the couch maybe and when you wake up I'll be here to explain everything so you don't have to read through everything again,” Zayn offers._

“ _I don't think I can,” Louis says. “I don't want this to be necessary.”_

_Zayn pushes a strand of hair out of Louis' face. “But it is if you want to sleep babe.”_

“ _Then I don't want to sleep,” Louis says._

_But he does. He really, really wants to sleep, get away from the pain in his head and the pain of needing to remember without being able to, he wants to escape from this stupid world for just a little while. What he doesn't want, though, is going through all the trouble in the morning again._

“ _Okay. Is there anything else you want me to do?” Zayn asks, and his voice sounds genuinely concerned. Louis hates that someone can care this much about him when all they are for him is a name, a face he has never seen and a few little descriptions over their time together scribbled down hastily in Louis' notebook._

“ _Not really.”_

“ _Do you want me to leave? Would it make this easier for you?” Zayn asks, and Louis can tell he is just a little bit hurt._

“ _Yes,” Louis says, and a single tear builds up in his eye. He's not sure where it comes from._

“ _Okay,” Zayn says, leaning forward to press a single kiss into the corner of Louis' mouth. “Call me when you're feeling better, okay?” And with that he stands up again from where he was kneeling on the floor, and turns to close the door to Louis' bedroom._

“ _I'm sorry,” Louis, mumbles, just before Zayn closes the door._

“ _It's alright,” Zayn says with a soft voice, and then he's gone._

  
  


_***_

  
  


_Zayn calls later that day._

“ _How are you babe?” he asks._

“ _Better.”_

“ _I thought you would call me when you're feeling better?”_

_Oh right, he did. “Sorry, must have forgotten.”_

_Zayn sighs. “Can I come over?”_

“ _Sure,” Louis says._

_Half an hour later the door bell rings, and Louis opens it to the man he saw earlier._

“ _Hey,” Louis greets, a soft smile on his face._

_Zayn presses a kiss to his mouth when he steps through the door. “I'm glad you're feeling better,” he says._

“ _I made tea, do you want some?” Louis asks, a bit lost with what else to say._

“ _I'm more of a coffee person, to be honest,” Zayn says, corner of his lips quirked up in a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes._

“ _Coffee then,” Louis says, backtracking to the kitchen and preparing a coffee for Zayn, who has taken a place at the kitchentable._

_When they're both finally sitting down, Zayn with his coffee and Louis with his tea, silence stretches over them._

“ _So what did you do today?” Louis asks, trying to start a conversation._

“ _My sister came over,” Zayn replies. “We went out to eat, catch up and all that.”_

_Louis hums, but doesn't say anything further. He fails big time at the smallest thing like holding a conversation with his boyfriend._

“ _Louis,” Zayn says, after another few minutes of silence._

“ _What is it?”_

“ _You don't need me, do you?” Zayn's voice sounds a bit pained._

“ _What do you mean?” Louis asks in confusion._

“ _You don't need me here. You don't need me to be in your life.”_

_Louis stays silent._

_Zayn takes a deep breath. “At the beginning I thought we could maybe make it work,” he says. “I thought if we would try it could work out, you know, with me being there for you when you need me. But the thing is you don't. You don't need me. If anything I just make your life harder because you have to try and remember me, when the thruth is you don't even know how to act around me because I'm a stranger to you. Everyday I'm a stranger. I thought we could make it work if the feelings were strong enough, but apparently they aren't. I'm just making it harder for you. And I don't want that. I want the best for you and I don't think a relationship is what you need right now.”_

_Louis stays silent one more time, unsure of what to say. His brain recognises that his boyfriend is breaking up with him, but there is no single emotion attached to the realisation. Which just proves Zayn's point, really._

“ _So you're breaking up with me?” Louis asks, at a loss for other words._

“ _Yeah,” Zayn replies quietly. “It's not working at all, surely you must see that.”_

“ _The thing is, I don't. I really don't. Because you're sitting there in front of me and I don't even know your last name or the name of your sister and that you like coffee more than tea. I don't know anything. Which -” he continues quietly, “is basically what you just said.” Louis raises his head to look at Zayn. “I'm sorry this how it is.”_

_Zayn reaches out, interlocking their fingers over the kitchentable. “Not your fault,” he mumbles. “I'm gonna miss you, though,” he says, and now there are tears forming in his eyes. “But this is for the best, I'm sure of it.”_

_And with that he swipes his thumb over Louis' hand one more time, stands up and kisses Louis on the forehead. “I wish you all the best,” he whispers into Louis' hair, before looking at Louis one more time and leaving through the kitchendoor._

_Seconds later Louis hears the front door fall shut._

  
  


_***_

  
  


_Louis doesn't cry._

_Or maybe he does, but that's mainly over the fact of this whole stupid situation that the loss of his relationship. He considers writing it all down before he goes to bed, like he knows he is supposed to, but he doesn't._

_Instead he looks through all of his notes and rips out the pages with Zayn's name, rewrites his life around his existence and throws away every single mention of a relationship or a man with beautiful eyes._

_It leaves his with three months of his life completely rewritten. It's a bit childish, Louis knows that, how he goes to the extreme of basically deleting Zayn out of his life. It's not like he regrets being with him, or hates him which would trigger him to do such things, but it's also not like he has any fond memories of their time being together._

_That's exactly it, he has no memories at all._

_When he goes to bed that night, he does mourn the loss of Zayn a little bit, but at least he knows that in the morning it will all be over. In the morning he will not remember nor recognise Zayn's face or name. Louis will not remember what a failure he is at relationships._

_It will be over. A new start._

  
  


_***_

  
  


**Present time.**

“Louis?” Harry's voice calls through the flat to where Louis is sitting on the couch. “They'll be here in a minute.”

“Alright,” Louis calls back. He is not nervous, he is most definitely not. Or maybe he is, alright. Not that anyone can hold it against him, Louis has always considered meeting the parents as quiet a big step, and this time he actually wants Harry's parents to like him. He wants them to see him as good enough for Harry and Louis isn't quite sure he'll succeed in convicing them that he is.

After what can only be a minute later there is a sharp knock on the door, and Louis can hear Harry open it and greet his family. Louis walks through the room, awkwardly standing in the doorframe watching over Harry and his family.

“Louis, right?” A young woman around Louis' age walks past Harry and his mum hugging and saves Louis from awkwardly standing there any longer. Harry's sister, Louis thinks.

She pulls him into a soft hug. “Hi, I'm Gemma,” she says before pulling away, giving Louis a not so subtle once over. “Good job Harry,” she calls over her shoulder, smirking at Louis.

“Hands off he's mine,” Harry calls back with a laugh, and then Harry's mother and her husband walk over to Louis.

“Mum, Robin, this is Louis,” Harry introduces them, now standing next to Louis with his arms wrapped around his waist.

“It's nice to meet you,” Louis says honestly, extending his hand. Harry's mum pulls him in for a hug instead.

“It's nice to meet you, too,” Harry's mum says. “I've heard so much about you. I'm Anne,” she says as she pulls away with a smile. Louis has never felt so welcomed in a family before.

“Robin,” Harry's stepfather introduces himself, shaking Louis' hand.

“Right,” Harry says. “Go on everyone, make yourself comfortable. Robin, coffee? Mum, Gems, tea?”

All three of them nod, and Harry's parents follow their son into the kitchen.

“I heard you are the one responsible for this thing,” Louis says to Gemma, pointing at the stag opposite the door. It was the first thing Louis asked about when he came over to Harry this morning.

Gemma laughs. It's similar to Harry's, Louis notices. “Yeah, I am. How very typical of him to actually hang it up.” She wraps her arm around Louis' shoulder, walking him into the living room.

“So Harry said you met at the bakery? I want all the details,” she says with a grin on her face.

Louis bites back a laugh. “I don't think I can tell you more than he already did,” he says.

“First impression, then?”

“There's flour on his face.”

Gemma barks out a laugh. It's the truth, there was indeed a smear of flour on Harry's face when Louis arrived this morning. Not that Gemma has to know that his first impression is not from almost nine months ago.

“Are you laughing at me?” Harry asks as he retreats to the room with his two parents.

“Of course we are,” Louis says.

“Didn't expect anything else,” Harry says, and leans down to smack a kiss into Louis' hair. “No embarrassing stories,” he warns Gemma, who laughs at her brother in response.

“You gotta tell me those later,” Louis whispers into Gemma's direction.

“I heard that.”

“Oh mum don't you have a few of Harry's baby pics on your phone? The ones where he's wearing your bra?” Gemma asks with a smirk.

“I do,” Anne laughs.

“I hate every single one of you,” Harry says under his breath, but there's a smile on his lips.

With Harry's sofa not being big enough for all of them, Louis finds himself with Harry sitting on the floor in front of him, head leaning against his knees as he catches up with his family.

Louis hands find their way into Harry's hair on their own account, and after they've all eased into conversation Louis absentmindedly begins to braid Harry's hair.

“Louis what do you do for a living?” Robin asks after conversation has begun to die down a little.

“I work at a garden center,” Louis replies. “Not really what I planned to do with my life, I went to university for music, but I -,” he stops, not sure how to continue.

Robin and Anne look at him expectingly. “Family reasons,” Louis says under his breath. He can feel Harry tensing under his touch. Thankfully Gemma is the one to get them – and mostly Louis – out of the situation.

She nudges Louis' shoulder. “Hold that,” she says with a nod to Harry's hair before walking over to her bag and coming back with two clear elastics. “Here,” she says with a smile.

Without even thinking Louis has braided Harry's hair close to the skull, the kind of braids his sisters loved a few years ago.

“That's cute,” Anne says, fondly looking at Louis and Harry leaning against his legs. “Where did you learn how to do that?” she asks.

“I got five sisters.”

“I can see that,” Anne laughs. “Very skilled hands.”

“How do I look?” Harry asks, and Louis pulls his phone from his pocket opening the front camera.

“Very beautiful,” he says, before snapping a picture of them two. “There,” he says. “New phone background.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Your family is lovely,” Louis whispers later that night, when he's cuddled next to Harry in bed. He knows he has to leave soon, before the exhaustion takes over, but not quite yet. Not when Harry's presence is so warm, so comfortable.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I hope you were not uncomfortable being bombarded with questions like that.”

“Nah. They were just interested. Not their fault that I don't have many stories to tell.”

“Oh you have the best stories to tell,” Harry says. “You once told me about the time you had a fight with your mum and decided to run away, so you packed your backpack with sweets and lived in the shed in your backyard for five hours. Or when you got in a fight with a guy two heads taller than you because he made fun of Niall's accent.”

Louis chuckles. “We both had bloody noses afterwards. But Niall and I have been best friends ever since so it was all worth it.” He pauses. “Why do you know Niall anyway?”

“Well, I've only met him a couple of times but he's so easygoing we kinda became friends after talking like a handful of times. We met at a bar a few years back.”

“Yeah Niall loves a good beer.”

Harry cocks his head. “Actually he was drinking a bright pink cocktail. Y'know, one with a little umbrella and a straw and all.”

The picture forming in Louis' head rips a laugh from him. “No way.”

Harry's body vibrates slightly as he laughs. “True story. That's why we started talking. Seems like the way he sucked on his straw kinda gave me the wrong impression.”

It takes Louis a second to catch on. “You were trying to hit on Niall?” He is full on laughing now.

Harry grins. “Yeah maybe. Didn't really work out. But he did buy me the same cocktail so I guess it went quite well.”

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I came out to Niall?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling softly.

“Well even though I told Niall literally everything I used to be really uncomfortable with my sexuality so I hid it from literally everyone, even myself. Until this one day, I was sixteen I think, we were both at this party with lots of older people like friends of his brother. And we got kinda seperated and this guy – his name was Sebastian – hit on me and I was so horny and just desperate to figure the mess in my head out that I went to a room with him. Long story short Niall walked in on me sucking his dick. And Niall being the absolute fucker he is – quite literally – pulled a condom from his pocket, threw it at my head and left with a 'Be safe guys'. And that was literally it. It was so easy to talk to him afterwards.”

Harry grins. “Yeah that does sound like Niall.” He lets his fingers run through Louis' hair. “Thank you for today,” he whispers and places a small kiss on Louis' lips. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

Louis squints his eyes. “It's quite literally freezing outside, maybe you should just stay inside where it's warm.”

“Hm, but I could walk you home, suck you off and then cuddle you until you fall asleep,” Harry says with a smirk.

Louis sits up abruptly. “Alright, let's go,” he says, scrambling off the bed and extending his hand to Harry.

Harry laughs. “Always so eager when there's a blowjob in sight.”

“And cuddling 'til I fall asleep, don't forget that part,” Louis adds. “But yeah, blowjobs.”

  
  


***

  
  


“I've been thinking,” Harry says, standing in Louis' kitchen looking absolutely breathtaking in tight skinny jeans and his hair falling over his shoulders, while Louis has just crawled out of bed about an hour ago. It's hard to believe that someone like _Harry_ is supposed to be his boyfriend. “Would you like to go vacation with me? I'm really craving the heat and the sea. Like just for a week if you can get the days off at work.”

Louis sits at the kitchentable, watching Harry prepare them tea, looking as comfortable in the kitchen as if it were his own. “Where would we go?”

“Well my grandparents moved to Cyprus a few years ago, and they said they wanted to visit London again. We could like swap places with them for a week so we wouldn't have to care about accommodation and such. It's like twenty-eight degrees there right now.”

A small smile tucks at Louis' lips. “It feels like an eternity since I've last been somewhere this warm,” he says.

Harry places the tea on the table and sits down across Louis with a wide smile that takes over his entire face. It kind of takes Louis' breath away. “So you want to come with me?” Harry asks.

The way Louis is looking at it there are only two options here. One, spend a potentially amazing week with a guy he barely knows but still feels awfully comfortable around in the sun, or, two, and Louis is not really on board with this option, stay in rainy London working a job he doesn't really like. It's not really a question.

“Sure. Let me see when I can get a week off.”

Harry's eyes light up. “Perfect. Do you think you could call today? Then we could look for flights and talk to my grandparents.”

It's all ridiculously easy. Three hours later they've booked flights to leave in ten days and in Louis' opinion there is nothing better than a vacation in the foreseeable future when it's currently raining outside with no sight of a blue sky.

They spend the rest of the day on the sofa, half watching whatever is on TV and half chatting about whatever comes to their minds. Harry's body completely engulfs Louis' when he wraps his arms around him, and Louis' heart stutters a bit when Harry pecks kisses all the way down Louis' neck.

It's stupid, that he has a massive crush on this man when he's his boyfriend of about nine months, but the butterflies in Louis' stomach don't seem to care.

At the same time, everything with Harry is so easy and relaxing and comfortable, as if Louis belongs in his arms. A part of him believes he does.

  
  


***

  
  


It has been an exhausting day.

It started with Louis waking up way to early for his liking, woken by his alarm ringing at bloody four in the morning.

The early morning made sense a few hours later, though, when Louis was sitting at the airport with a very handsome, and very tired guy by his side. It had taken Louis a bit of convincing and a call to Niall that he was not being kidnapped in a very weird way by a stranger to be kept somewhere lonely in Cyprus. Once he was sure he understood the situation to his best ability, though, Louis was nothing else but looking forward to a week in the sun.

The arriving in Cyprus and renting a car had also not been the easiest thing either of them had done, but a few hours later they were unlocking the door to Harry's grandparents' house, a small but lovely place in the countryside with the ocean visible at the horizon.

They had gone food shopping, too, and cooked a delicious meal together that they ate outside looking over the hills and the sea, shielded from the hot sun by the trees growing over their heads.

The sex had also taking a lot of energy from Louis, and so they are both lying in bed next to each other, naked and sweating, the fan over their heads blowing cool air over their bodies.

Louis' eyelids are closing more and more with every second, and he relaxes under the simple touch that is Harry's and his locked hands.

  
  


***

  
  


It's weird, Louis figures, waking up in a different country completely lost in your whereabouts and with a half naked guy walking into the room explaining your situation further after you have read what's probably the most absurd thing that could ever happen to you.

It helps, though, that Harry seems to be absolutely lovely and caring, talking to Louis about his situation as if he has done nothing else for years, with care and affection in his voice like Louis has never heard before.

It also helps that Louis really can't complain, not when he is somewhere where the sun shines so bright early in the morning and there is breakfast waiting for him.

Louis discusses the basics of his life with Harry as they eat breakfast, and to every question Louis has Harry seems to know the answer.

With his stomach full of watermelon and other delicous-ness Louis hasn't eaten for breakfast in years, the day seems to start with ease.

They start by exploring the nearby city, strolling through the streets with their hands locked, enjoying that the sun is not high enough on the sky to transform them into puddles of sweat yet. Eating lunch at a local restaurant isn't too bad either.

When it gets too warm outside for it to be enjoyable they retreat to their house, reading and in Harry's case napping under the cool air the fan provides.

“Harry,” Louis says softly, poking Harry's cheek. He chuckles when Harry frowns in his sleep. He looks like a kitten.

“Harry,” he repeats, this time a bit louder, kissing the tip of his nose.

“What is it,” Harry murmurs, slurring the words together.

“It's getting late, you should wake up or you won't be able to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight.”

Harry groans. “Don't be like my mum.” He slowly open his eyes nonetheless, blinking at Louis through his lashes.

Louis smirk. “I also wanted to tell you that your grandparents have called twice already. I answered the second time, lovely people, really.”

Harry's voice sounds rough from sleep. “What did they want?”

“Just make sure we got here safely and have everything we need.” He chuckles. “Your grandma also explicitly asked us to not have sex on the carpet in the living room because it's expensive.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

Louis laughs. “She then told me about the time she had sex on a carpet and how she had burns all over her back for the next few weeks.”

Harry makes a noise somewhere between laughter and the sound of a dying goose. “Great.”

“I like her. I'll get along with her just fine.”

“I'm gonna go call her back, though,” Harry says, crawling out of bed and reaching for his phone. “See if they're alright in my flat.”

Louis uses the time Harry spends on his phone talking and laughing with his grandmother to take a look at the entire house, a thing he hasn't done this morning.

Harry's grandmother is right, the carpet in the living room does look expensive, almost unfittingly so in the otherwise more sparsely and simply decorated house. The only other room Louis hasn't seen after walking through the house for a while is the other bedroom, but at least that means they're not having sex on Harry's grandparent's bed.

That night when they're tangled up in bed, and Louis can hear Harry's heartbeat from where he's cuddled on his chest, he lets his fingers wander over every inch of Harry's body presented to him.

He trails the lines of the butterfly inked into his stomach, over the fern tattoos on his hips and he caresses the anchor on his wrist.

“I think I want to get a tattoo,” he says.

“Yeah? Do you know what you want to get?”

Louis clears his throat. “I thought, maybe, like a rope on my wrist?”

Harry stills. “As is, an anchor and a rope?”

Louis perches his head up on Harry's chest, looking at him. “Is that a stupid idea? Like I know we haven't been together for that long, but I – I don't know I'll never be able to remember you in the morning, right? I think I want something of me to be a part of you even if my brain isn't. And like, it'll look pretty sick, too, even if we do break up one day.”

Harry smiles. He takes Louis' wrist in his hand, fingers trailing over the skin there. “It would look pretty sick, yeah. Are you sure?”

“You know what? My life hasn't changed at all in the last few years, well, apart from the obvious stuff, I think I'm ready to do things a bit different now.”

“And you think a couple tattoo is the way to go?” Harry grins.

“Maybe,” Louis laughs. “And to be fair, if I never speak to you again one day it'll only be a rope.”

“And you're gonna hate yourself every morning for a few minutes because you'll have no idea how it got there.”

Louis tilts his head. “Hopefully not.”

“I think it's a great idea,” Harry says after a little while.

“Let me write it down, then,” Louis says, grabbing for his notebook and writing the idea down in a few words, before finding his place on Harry's chest again, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“Stay,” he mumbles against Harry's chest, when sleep begins to wash over him. “I want to wake up in the morning holding you in my arms. Just this once.”

He can hear Harry sigh. “The last time I was with you when you woke up you kicked me out of the flat.”

“I don't want to sleep alone.”

Harry kisses the top of Louis' head. “Me neither,” he whispers, wrapping his arms closer around Louis.

  
  


***

  
  


“Good morning,” Louis hears someone whisper. The voice is unfamiliar, and Louis opens his eyes trying to place a face to the voice.

There is a face, one at the opposite side of the bed, looking back at him uncertainly, looking somewhat worried. Whoever the man is, he is desperately trying to keep his distance, lying at the very end of the bed and keeping his hands to himself.

Louis searches for words, but there are none. There's nothing, just confusion and the slight hint of panic.

“Louis,” the man says. “I'm Harry. This whole situation must be confusing to you, but I'm going to explain it to you, alright?”

Louis' stomach sinks. This is not right. Something about this situation is completey and utterly wrong. He nods nonetheless, scooting back a bit on the bed, his eyes focused on the man as he starts to speak again.

An hour later, with food in his stomach and an explanation in his head Louis feels significantly better, and the ease of how Harry – his boyfriend – is moving around him calms Louis further, grounds him.

“Lou?” Harry asks, when they're done eating, letting the early sun warm their faces, “My grandma told me about a few places we should visit while we're here, there's this waterfall on a mountain I'd love to see and since it's supposed to get really hot today maybe it would be nice to get somewhere higher up where it's colder.”

Louis nods. “Sure, sounds good. I do want to go to the sea too, though, haven't been in way too long.”

“We have the whole day for things like that,” Harry says with a smile. “That's the point of this vacation, doing whatever we want whenever we want.”

Louis tilts his head. “So waterfalls and mountains first, the beach later?”

Harry hums. He has his eyes closed and his hair is tied up in a bun, loose strands falling into his face. Louis can tell he's starting to get a tan, his face looking healthy and slighty darker than his neck. And if Louis isn't mistaken, there's also hint of red creeping up his nose.

“Put sunscreen on you're burning yourself,” Louis mutters, poking Harry's cheek. A dimple appears and Louis has to bite back a fond smile.

“Stop that,” Harry laughs, when Louis' finger finds his other cheek, determined to find out if there's a dimple hiding there as well. There is, Louis learns.

Harry grabs for Louis' wrist, holding his hand in place and effectively stopping him for poking his face any further. His expression is unbelievably soft when he looks at Louis. “Come on,” he says, “let's get inside, put some sunscreen on and figure out the way to that mountain.”

They do, and about two hours later they're sitting in the car they've rented for their stay, driving down the highway until they reach the smaller streets, curling their way up the mountains between trees and steep hillsides.

Harry plucks his phone into the radio and they loudly sing along to the songs they know, Louis watching and listening to Harry's voice with content when the melody or lyrics don't spark any recognition with him.

Soon enough they arrive at their destination, though, and getting out of the car Louis can immediately feel the drop in temperature. It's almost at the borderline of being too cold in the shorts he is wearing, but the fresh air is a nice change to the hot and stifling air lying heavy over the rest of the country.

They're not the only ones walking up the path to the waterfall, but there are not enough people up there to make the situation any less comfortable or relaxed. There is a young couple snapping pictures of everything around them, preferably with the girl posing to the camera in every single one, and two older people with what Louis assumes to be their grandchild are taking their time climbing up the stairs leading up the mountain. Louis smiles at the little girl animatedly talking to her grandparents in German, pointing at every tree and bush they pass.

The waterfall itself is not as spectacular as either of them thought it to be, but Louis would lie if he says that he doesn't enjoy their little trip up there.

They are sitting down on the rocks lining the small lake, a river beside them leading the water further down the mountain.

The water is icy cold when they decide to take their shoes off and let their feet dangle into the water. Louis lets out a shriek when the water touches his toes, pulling his legs back and holding on to Harry's arm, who can't stop himself from laughing.

It's a laugh that takes over his whole face, and Louis thinks he might just be a second from clapping his thigh. It's ridiculous and so, so cute.

“You can laugh when you had your feet in,” Louis says with his eyes narrowed.

Harry's laugh fades out. “Together?” he asks, taking Louis' hand in his.

“We're gonna lose our feet,” Louis says, but he holds tight on to Harry's hand nonetheless.

They count to three and stand up together, water at their ankles as they stand on a flat stone just underneath the surface of the water.

“Fucking hell,” Harry curses. The water seems to freeze every single cell in their bodies, leaving their feet numb after a few moments. “Let's see who can bare this longer.”

Louis' answer is groan, but he stays inside the water, taking the challenge on.

In the meantime the little German girl with her grandparents have arrived at the small lake, and she looks at Harry and Louis standing there in the water, completely still with their fingers interlocked.

She sits down on a flat rock just beside them, and happily starts talking to them in the language neither Harry or Louis understands.

“Okay that's enough,” Louis says after a few more seconds, rushing out of the cold water and sits down next to the girl, who apparently doesn't care at all that no one is answering to her endless monologue.

As soon as Louis is out of the water Harry follows his lead, letting his body warm up again outside of the icy cold.

The girl looks at them for a second, before reaching into the water with her little hand, only twitching a little at the temperature. When she pulls her hand back out two stones the size of grapes lie in the palm of her hand.

“Für dich,” she says, handing Louis a stone, “und für dich.” She hands Harry the second. Louis might not be anywhere near fluent in German, but the few things he remembers from school are enough to understand her words. _For you._

“Danke,” Louis says, closing his fist around the smooth stone and shoots her a sincere smile.

She grins, her whole face lightning up, and she stands up, climbing over the little rocks back to her grandparents.

Harry and Louis keep their little presents with them when they make their way back to the house again.

“I'll never have kids,” Louis says, turning the stone over in his hand. He doesn't expect an answer from Harry, because what is he supposed to say, really.

And he doesn't get one. Instead Harry pulls the car over, bringing it to a stop where there is just enough place beside the road, the view breathtaking as the mountains at the horizon fade into blue colours.

Instead he finds Harry's lips on his own seconds later, a bruising kiss that feels so desperate that Louis can do nothing more but let Harry do as he pleases.

“What are you doing,” he says somewhat breathless when Harry disconnects their lips again and instead opens Louis' shorts with skilled fingers.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks, making sure he has Louis' consent before moving any further.

Louis nods. He is defintely not going to say no to whatever happens next.

He doesn't quite expect Harry to go down on him immediately, though, but he is definitely not complaining when there's a gorgeous man sucking his cock to full hardness in a car in the middle of nowhere.

The little flicks of Harry's tongue and obvious skilled movements have Louis trembling embarrassingly quickly, little whines escaping his throat as he tries to stay as quiet as possible.

Not that there are any cars or other people around, but the possibility of being caught causes Louis' blood to boil and his forehead to sweat. He comes with a shout, shuddering as he feels Harry swallowing around him, and when he pulls off there is only a little of Louis' come on his lips.

Louis pulls him up by the chin, kissing his lips with intent. He licks his own come off of Harry's lips and tastes more of it as their tongues move together.

“D'you want me to -,” he gestures to Harry's crotch, to busy with kissing the other man to finish his sentence.

“Later,” Harry says, against Louis' mouth, his voice somewhat strained. “We're going to get back to the house and then down to the beach, and later when we're both almost too exhausted from the long day I'm gonna fuck you nice and slow. And you'll smell like the ocean and the beach and the sun and I'm gonna hold you until we both fall asleep.”

Louis smiles into the kiss. “Sounds good to me,” he says.

And that's what happens for the rest of the day.

They nap in the sun at the beach where they hear the waves crashing and children laughing, and they cool themselves down in the water until their eyes are burning from the salt, and they feel the hot sand between their toes as they go to buy ice cream.

They get back to the house with their hair still wet and sand in weird places, and they take a shower together that is all tender touches and soft kisses.

And as promised Harry fucks Louis unbearably slow until they're both desperate for release, and later, when they are lost in their sex bubble Harry holds Louis close until his heartbeat has slowed down significantly.

“Do you want me to be here in the morning?” Harry asks with a soft voice.

“Stay,” Louis says, voice mere a whisper. “Don't leave me please.”

It stays quiet for a while, and Louis almost thinks Harry has fallen asleep.

“Never,” he hears distantly, and he feels the press of lips against his forehead as Louis drifts into sleep.

  
  


***

  
  


In addition to his tea Louis drinks a strong coffee on his flight home, desperate to not give into the need of sleep.

He suceeds, if only hardly so, and when he is standing next to Harry waiting for their luggage to arrive he wishes for nothing more than his bed and his home. It's a weird thought that he doesn't even know what his flat looks like, but Harry has promised to stay with him until he falls asleep before going back to his own flat, and Louis trusts him. He seems like a person he can trust.

When they both have their suitcases with them they make their way through the airport.

That is until Louis is ungracefully running into a person coming from his left, and he only barely manages to hold onto the stranger's elbow to stop him from falling over.

“I am so sorry,” Louis brings out, apologetically looking at the man. He is not sure how to continue, though, not when the man in front of him looks like he could be a model and is doing nothing but staring back at Louis.

“Louis,” he says, and even through that one word – or name, really – Louis can hear his thick accent. That's not the point, though, because as soon as Louis' name leaves the guy's mouth Louis' brain starts tumbling over itself.

Two options. One, Louis knows this person, this person knows Louis and he knows about Louis' condition. Everything will be fine. Second, Louis knows this person, this person knows Louis and he doesn't know about Louis and his condition, and this is definitely going to end in embarrassment and potentially a very awkward conversation.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks, pulling Louis out of his thoughts. He's not sure if the question is directed at him or Mr Model.

Speaking of, Mr Model looks just as confused and deep in thoughts as Louis feels.

“I'm sorry,” the guy says. “I didn't mean to startle you.” He seems to struggle for words to say. “I'm Zayn,” he says, shooting Louis a small smile. “Not that my name means anything to you, but uhm -.” He doesn't continue.

Option one then. A good thing.

Louis can feel Harry's eyes on him, seemingly making sure Louis is okay with the situation. He doesn't know if he is, to be honest.

“Hi,” Louis says, the first proper thing to come out of his mouth since his rushed apology. “I don't really -,” _know what to say. Know who you are. Know anything about you._

“Yeah, right,” Mr Model, Zayn, says. “Uhm we knew each other a few years back.” He still sounds unsure in finding the right words. “We – we were in a relationship for three months.” He looks as Louis expectingly, probably not knowing at all what kind of reaction he will get.

Harry's hand closes around Louis'. Stupid jealous boyfriend. Stupid jealous and incredibly loveable dork. He squeezes Harry's hand, trying not to let his fond show.

Louis nods slowly. He tries to understand but he doesn't, not that anyone can hold it against him. Or he understands but he isn't able to completely grasp the concept of the whole situation, of everything the guy is telling him and everything in his memories that screams against it.

Zayn's eyes fall to their interlocked hands. He smiles.

“Zayn,” he introduces himself one more time, completely ignoring that Harry has been there through the whole conversation. “I guess you're Louis' boyfriend?” He extends his hand for Harry to shake.

Harry nods, using his free hand to greet Zayn. “Yeah. We've been together for nine months. I'm Harry.” Stupid jealous and incredibly loveable dork that feels the need to point out that their relationship is going on for longer. Louis bites back a smile.

Zayn nods, a sincere smile on his face. “I wish you two all the best,” he says with honesty in his voice. “You must be great for each other if you're so strong through all of this. Louis and I -,” he turns to Louis, “- we weren't.”

He lets his hand rest on Louis' shoulder. “It was good seeing you again, Louis,” he says. “Harry,” he adds with a nod into Harry's direction.

And with that he is gone, walking through the airport with his bag slung over his shoulder, not once looking back.

It takes Louis and Harry a second to break the silence that Zayn leaves behind.

“I dated a freaking model,” Louis whispers with a grin, just as he is starting to process what just happened.

“I can see that,” Harry murmurs.

Louis squeezes his hand one more time. “Don't be jealous,” he says with a grin. “He just walked out off my life for the second time. And he didn't smell as good as you. He smelled like cigarettes and you smell like the sun.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Let's get you home,” he says.

They make their way through the airport and into an uber, they get to what Louis supposes is his flat and Harry prepares them dinner from the few things left in Louis' fridge.

They watch a movie until they're both close to falling asleep, and Harry lies next to Louis in bed as Louis writes down everything he wants to remember from the day. There's one reaccuring theme in Louis' head, though, and he can't say he likes where his thoughts are heading.

Only when Louis is finished with everything, he turns his attention to Harry.

“Are we really that strong?” he asks, absentmindedly letting his fingers wander over Harry's chest.

“What do you mean?”

“What Zayn said today. That we are strong through all off this.”

Harry takes a grasp on Louis' hand and presses it close to his chest. “I think the fact that we are here right now in this bed after nine months speaks for us, don't you think?”

Louis hums, staying quiet for a while. “But how will it be in the next nine months?” he asks. “In a year, or two, or three? We could never be forever, you know that, right?”

“Louis,” Harry says, his voice soft. “Of course we can. I want us to be forever and I'm sure we could be. I love you and I want to be by your side until we're old and for long after that.”

Louis swallows around the lump that's building in his throat. Harry's eyes are so unbelievaby green in the dim light of the room, and the sight makes Louis' heart flutter. “You might think that now but you'll change your mind,” he says.

Harry shakes his head. “I know you, Louis. I know you and I am fully aware of the situation we are in. And I love you. Time is not going to change that.”

Now it's Louis' time to shake his head. “You don't know me. You never will. You'll never get the full version of me. You'll never get to experience a proper long term relationship with me because I'm stuck in this loop of falling in love with you everyday. Over and over again. Starting from zero. You might love me for nine months, or three years someday, but I could never love you for more than a day.

“You'll never know how it is to share memories with me. We could never have children because I couldn't bare the thought of not knowing who they are. You'll never have a proper life with me Harry.”

Harry's hand stills from where he is drawing little circles onto the back of Louis' hand. “What are you saying,” he whispers.

“Maybe,” Louis says, and he chokes as the words fall from his lips, “maybe I should let you go before you fall in too deep. Maybe I should let you go because you deserve someone who can love you back.”

“Are you breaking up with me, Lou?” Harry asks, his voice quivering.

Louis rests his head on Harry's chest. At least now he doesn't have to look Harry in the eyes when he speaks. “I am, yes.”

Harry stays quiet. When Louis does look up he can see the tears in Harry's eyes, and he watches them fall as Harry blinks. “What about you,” Harry whispers. “You deserve someone to love you.”

Louis wipes Harry's tears away with his thumb. “I'll find happiness. I'm not alone in this, you know. I have Niall and I have my family and I have Liam.” To Louis' surprise he doesn't feel like crying, even though he is fully aware that he is letting go off the best thing that ever happened in his life with a few sentences.

“You'd forget me,” Harry whispers. “I would be just a name in your notes. A complete stranger if you would see me on the streets.”

Louis nods slowly. “And that's not how it's supposed to be. Just adds to my point, really. I want to give you your life back.”

Harry lets out a huffed laugh that seems weak through his tears. “I hate your point. You know I could just wait until you fall asleep and this conversation would be completely forgotten.”

“I'd think about it every other day, though,” Louis says. “Over and over again. It would be a new thought, but it'd be there.”

It's quiet for some more time.

“You really want me to leave?” Harry asks. His eyes are red.

 _No_ , Louis' brain screams. “Yes,” he whispers. “Please, Harry. Somehow I think we're making both of our lives so much harder.”

Harry sits up, cradling Louis' face in his hands. “I love you,” he says, softly pressing his lips against Louis'. “And I will never, never forget you.”

Now there are tears falling from Louis' face, too, mixing with Harry's on his cheek. “I don't want you to,” he says. “I want you to keep our memories for both of us. They are not gone when you keep them close with you.”

Harry wraps his arms tightly around Louis, clutching onto him for dear life. Louis isn't sure how long they stay like this, holding each other, but at last Harry lets go and presses a last kiss to Louis' forehead.

And then he's out the door faster than Louis can follow with his eyes, and a minute later the front door falls shut.

Option three: Louis knows Zayn, Zayn knows Louis and Zayn reopens scars in Louis he doesn't even remember he has. Newly opened wounds that let Louis throw away the best thing he has in life only because he thinks it couldn't work out.

Everything is not fine.

  
  


 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo last one I hope you enjoy :) pls leave feedback...  
> thank you for reading and commenting and leaving kudos I love you all a lot xxxxx

 

**Three**

  


Louis wakes when light trickles into the room. It's the kind of light that promises a warm day, and Louis opens his eyes feeling well rested.

That is until about an hour later, when he suddenly feels very tired and exhausted after he has read over words that make his head spin.

He sits at the kitchentable, a cup of tea in his hands and flicks through pictures showing various family members and friends. While they are all making Louis' stomach turn over, one in particular catches his attention.

It's a picture of himself and a man. It looks sunny in the photo, and Louis can make out the sea behind them. It's not the setting that bothers Louis, though, no. It's how incredibly happy the Louis in the picture looks, how comfortable he seems to be leaning against this man with a grin so wide on his face it almost looks as if it hurts.

Louis reads over the text on the back of the picture.

_This is Harry. Harry Styles, your boyfriend. This is the two of you on vacation in Cyprus in May this year._

Or that's what it was supposed to read once. Two more letters scribbled at the top of the photograph in different pen suddenly changes the whole meaning. _Ex_ it says just between the words _your_ and _boyfriend_.

There is no other comment on the topic, so Louis flicks through the pages of his notebook until he finds what he's looking for three months back. It's probably one of the longest entries in this book.

_Harry and I broke up. Or I broke up with Harry, because until the very end he didn't want to leave. I don't know if this turns out to be the worst decision I ever made, but who cares, right? In the morning it won't be important anymore. To me at least. Harry cares, that's who. He will care tomorrow and for the next days and weeks to come, while I'll just shrug and turn to the next paper. Only makes this more reasonable, doesn't it? I should be crying, for days even, I should not just forget. But that's what I always do, and Harry is better off without me. He'll find someone else and eventually he'll forget about his love for me too, and then we're even. I feel weirdly empty. I think a part of me left with Harry through that door. Just a few more hours, though. Tomorrow it'll all be gone._

It doesn't feel like anything is gone, though. It doesn't seem like past-Louis wants to forget, either, because there are more pictures that show the beautiful man.

There is one of them with Louis' sisters in the background, one where Harry has his hair braided, there are ones with a sleepy Harry looking like they've been taking just before he's fallen asleep, and there are ones of Harry standing in this kitchen, making food.

There are pictures others seem to have taken of them, ones where they are outside in the snow, with red cheeks and noses, and the Louis in the picture is laughing so brightly Louis thinks he can almost hear it.

Louis pushes the pictures away when he can't look at them any longer, and he decides to push all of his thoughts to the very back of his brain. He doesn't want to think. Not anymore.

Instead he takes a shower, scrubbing every image of Harry and him from his body, and after he has taken a look in the mirror he shaves his stubble off.

He looks for the clothes that remind him most of his younger self, and after a short call with his mum he makes his way through the streets of London, walking into the familiar direction of his childhood home.

His sisters greet him at the door with tight hugs, and the sound of feet excitedly patting against the floor indicates that his youngest sister and brother are making their way to Louis, too.

Little Ernie and Doris hug Louis' legs giggling without a care in the world. When Louis leans down to take a proper first look at their faces, he immediately has sticky hands in his face and wet kisses all over his nose.

Being home feels warm. Despite the differences and changes all over the house and in his family, it all screams of familarity and love. Chatting with his sister is as easy and comforting as always, although the topics have changed slightly.

His mum's food is still the same, and her hugs bring Louis right back to the time when he was a child.

Louis only leaves late that day, but with a full stomach and a heart full of stories from his siblings.

It isn't all that bad, he figures, when he goes to bed that night.

  


***

  


It's Wednesday, and there is work.

It's monotonous, and it's boring, despite Louis chatting with Liam every now and then.

  


***

  


It's Friday, and there is work and food shopping.

Louis makes himself a great dinner, but it doesn't taste that good when he's the only one eating it in front of the TV.

  


***

  


It's Tuesday, and there is work and a twenty minute call from Niall.

It's good to hear the familiar voice, but it's not so good anymore when Niall hangs up after a little while because he has the third date with this girl he likes, and apparently things are going great.

  


***

  


It's Friday, and today there is no work. Instead Louis is sitting in his doctors office, listening to various results of various medical tests and exams, and he politely nods. His thoughts are already back at the flat with a bag of crisps.

He leaves with a flyer of some sort, though, but he doesn't bother looking into it.

  


***

  


It's Sunday, and there's a sharp knock on Louis' door.

Louis' brain turns itself over when Louis tries to remember if he is expecting anyone, but when he figures he doesn't he still opens the door nonetheless.

There's a woman standing in front of him, about his age, and she smiles at him softly.

“Louis,” she says, and when Louis doesn't react she extends her hand. “Right, sorry. My name is Gemma, I'm Harry's sister. Do you know who Harry is?”

Louis takes her hand and shakes it, and he nods slowly.

“Can I come in?” Gemma asks, and few minutes later they're both sitting at the kitchentable.

“So you know,” Louis says after a little while.

“Yeah,” Gemma nods. “He wasn't doing so great after you two broke up and I came to stay with him for a weekend. He told me about everything that's been going on.”

“Why are you here?” Louis asks, when she doesn't say anything further.

“I don't – I don't know to be honest,” Gemma says. “I'm not here to make you feel bad for the break up or anything, or to convince you to get back together, don't worry. I guess I just – wanted to see how you are.”

“Does Harry know that you're here?”

Gemma shakes her head. “No. Maybe this is completely stupid and wrong.”

Louis stays quiet for a while. “How is he now? It's been four months, hasn't it?”

“He's alright,” Gemma says. “I don't think he'll ever be completely over it, though.” Louis furrows his brows. “I didn't mean to – like I'm sure he'll get over it – just – I don't think he'll ever stop loving you,” she adds, when she sees Louis' expression. “He still doesn't agree with you that the break up was the right choice.”

“I think I was trying to get him his life back,” Louis says quietly.

Gemma tucks her hair behind her ear. “I've never seen him more alive than when he was with you.”

“I though you didn't want to make me feel bad.”

She snorts quietly. “I'm sorry.” She clears her throat, and says with a much brighter voice, “So how's your day been?”

The sudden change of topic brings a smile to Louis' lips. He thinks he likes Harry's sister quite a lot. “Uhm I've been to the doctors this morning. Not much else.”

Gemma tilts he head. “The doctors?” she asks, “it's all good though, right?”

“Apart from the fact that I'm a human dayfly?” he snorts. “Yeah. In fact,” he pulls a flyer from the stack of paper next to him on the table, “maybe even good news.”

“What is this?” Gemma asks, skimming over the text printed on the flyer. Louis watches as she reads with her brows furrowed. “Louis -,” she starts, as she seems to understand.

“I don't know if I should do it,” Louis says. “It's nothing concrete, just a study, a trial.Their success rate isn't the best and it's brain surgery. I don't really fancy someone poking around in my head for nothing, and I don't really fancy not waking up after, either.”

Gemma's eyes are wide. “You could get almost all of your brain functionality back,” she says. “Your life could be like everyone else's again.”

Louis bites his lips. “I could die.”

“You could start to remember again.”

And that's a good point, really.

“Promise me you'll think about it,” Gemma says. “If your doctor thinks you are a suitable candidate tell me you'll at least think it through properly. Do it for yourself.”

Louis nods after a little while. “I should not give up just yet, should I?”

Gemma places her hand on top of Louis'. “No. You'll never stop wondering what could've happened if you don't give it all the thoughts you have.”

“Oh, I've almost forgotten,” she exclaims after a few seconds. She carefully pulls a box from her bag and places it on the table. “You know that Harry is a baker, right? I was at the bakery earlier and he gave me some of these,” she opens the box to reveal a bunch of baked pastry, the smell of cinnamon overwhelming.

Gemma is one of the loveliest people Louis has ever met, he thinks. Definitely the loveliest today. Harry doesn't come up in conversation again, and neither does Louis' condition or the potential treatment. Instead they chat and laugh and eat like they're old friends, and Louis kind of hopes they can be one day.

He knows they can't, not with her being his ex's sister, but the wish is there nonetheless.

Louis' cheeks hurt from laughing when she leaves a few hours later, and the good mood stays for the rest of the day.

What also stays, though, is the memory of their earlier conversation, and Louis finds himself researching the potential treatment for most of the night. He doesn't understand much, but what he does understand is that it could in fact cure him, and that his chances aren't so bad either. He makes a note to call his doctor the next day to discuss it further with him.

He also adds another picture to the pile of pictures already on his kitchentable, one of Gemma laughing as she animatedly tells a story. Louis only realises how much she looks like Harry when there are two pictures of the siblings lying next to each other.

He goes to bed trying not to think too much about everything, trying to keep his brain away from thoughts that could potentially mean a sleepless night. He switches the light off instead, cuddling himself closer under his duvet. It's nearing October, and the nights are getting colder.

  


***

  


It's almost November, Louis realises, when he checks for the date on his phone.

He has just come home from work, freezing from the cold wind, and the tea in his hands as he sits on the sofa in the living room does a good job of getting him warm again.

He is flicking through his files out of curiosity, since he had to rush to work this morning after sleeping longer than he should have and then being caught up in trying to figure his life out.

So it's the first time today that he properly has the time to learn about the people in his life, his friends, his family.

There is a lot to look through, dozens of photographs and written memories, names and places, appointments with a doctor and ideas for Christmas presents.

There is nothing out of the ordinary, though, well apart from the fact that everything is. Nothing that gives him a hint of an exciting love life, a boyfriend or an ex maybe, nothing that hints towards his life being more than the monotonous routine of work and visiting his family every other week.

Louis is not sure how he hasn't died of boredom in the last five years.

He's also not sure how he hasn't starved in the last five years, because his fridge is emptier that Louis thought could be possible, and his stomach is positively grumbling.

So he puts his coat and shoes on again, making his way out of the flat and down the street, heading for the Tescos he knows is just around the corner.

As it turns out it is not, or not anymore at least. A lovely older lady redirects him further down the street, and Louis thanks her and continues his way.

He can't stop his stomach from revolting, though, as he passes a bakery and the most delicious smell of freshly baked bread drings into his nose.

It's not really a choice when Louis opens the door and sets foot into the warm room, looking over the food lining the window of the counter.

He is the only one inside, but he can hear someone rumbling in what he supposes to be where the food magic happens.

The sound of the door seems to alarm whoever is back there, and a person rounds the corner to take Louis' order.

It's a young man, slightly taller than Louis and little strands of his curly hair fall into his face from where they have escaped his bun. Louis can't help but notice how breathtakingly beautiful he is.

The guy seems startled by Louis' presence in the shop, staring at him for a few seconds. “Hi,” he says, quietly.

Louis gives him a friendly nod. “One of the brown loafs, please,” he says, pointing to the shelf behind the man.

He feels a bit uncomfortable as the guy stares at him for a bit longer, not breaking eye contact and not moving at Louis' words either.

Louis raises one eyebrow at him as there seems to be no reaction, and after a few more seconds the man snaps out of his trance. “Right,” he says quietly, getting the loaf from the shelf and putting it into a paper bag with automatic fingers. “Anything else?” he asks, as he types into the checkout.

“No that'll be all,” Louis says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. When he locks eyes with the guy opposite him, he freezes. “Is everything alright?” he asks, suddenly concerned for the man.

Somewhere between taking Louis' order and getting the bread tears have build up in the man's eyes, daring to spill over at any moment.

“Yeah. Yes. I am so sorry,” the guy says, blinking the tears away and taking a deep breath. “I'm good.” He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He takes the money Louis hands him, and sends him a reassuring smile when Louis turns to leave.

Louis wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable by digging further, so he leaves it be.

“Have a good day, Louis,” the man says, just as Louis is about to open the door, and Louis freezes.

“Louis?” he asks, turning around. “How do you know my name?”

The other man seems startled, as if he didn't realise the name falling from his lips. As if it's normal for him, almost. He stays quiet.

Louis' voice is only a whisper when he thinks he figures the reason out. “I know you, don't I?”

The man nods once after a moment of silence. “It's okay, though. You don't need to remember me.”

Louis stares at him. There are a million questions flying through his head, a million words he wants to say but doesn't. Instead he walks back to the counter.

“How much,” he asks, “how much am I missing here?”

“Really, don't worry about it,” the guy says. His eyes are slightly red, but at least there are no tears visible this time.

Louis shakes his head. “No. Of course I'm going to worry. Don't you understand that I need to know?”

The guy nods. “I do. I can't tell you, though. I don't know if at some point in the past you deliberately tried to forget about me, and I wouldn't want to give you a part of a story you'll never be able to complete. You might be able to read about me at home, though. And if there's nothing, than maybe it's for the best if I don't tell you a word.”

Louis' hand grips tighter around the paperbag with the bread. “You were a big part of my life once, weren't you,” he says, not quite a question. It's more of a feeling, but the way this guy is looking at him practically confirms it right on the spot.

“Go home, Louis,” the guy says softly.

And Louis does, hesitatingly so, but he leaves the shop, buys the minimal things he needs in terms of food for the next few days, and he goes home. The guy doesn't leave his mind for a single second.

  


***

  


It's a Friday afternoon, and Louis isn't quite sure why he is where he is.

Or, he is, but he's not sure _what_ he is doing here, or at least not why he thought this to be a good idea.

Still not true. He knows exactly why he is here, what he is about to do and why he made the appointment in the first place. He knows what the black ink that's going to be on his arm forever in a few hours is representing, he knows exactly what he is doing.

His heart sinks into his boots nonetheless.

There is a bell ringing when Louis opens the door to the tattoo parlour, and he is greeted by a man about his age. He himself has tattoos all over his arm and Louis can even see a few chest pieces through the low neckline of his shirt. He looks like a Vogue model too, with his facial structures and warm, brown eyes.

“Louis, right?” the guy states, and there is a slight hint to his tone Louis can't really name. “You have an appointment for today?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and he hopes he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels.

“Perfect,” the guy says. He walk around the corner, extending his hand to Louis. “I'm Zayn, I'm gonna tattoo you today. You wanted a rope around your wrist, right?”

Louis nods. “Yeah. Something realistic looking.” He clears his throat. “Something that would fit to an anchor.”

Zayn almost looks like he's trying to figure something out, but the expression vanishes from his face in seconds. “An anchor, right. Well I have prepared a few designs if you want to take a look.” He hands Louis a small file with a few pages of paper.

His designs go from very simple to more elaborate, and after a little while Louis has decided on one with simple shading that loops itself into a loose knot.

He waits as Zayn prepares the design, and only minutes later he's sitting on a chair, his wrist is shaven and cleaned and there's a copy of the design on Louis' arm. He's all prepared to get his first tattoo.

“You're sure you want to do this?” Zayn asks one last time, and Louis nods.

“Yes.”

Zayn chuckles. “Alright. It's definitely going to sting, especially on the underside of your wrist at the veins where the skin is thinner. If you need me to stop for a moment, just tell me, alright?”

And with that he dips the needle into the ink, and presses it into Louis' skin.

A few hours later Louis is back home and there's clingfilm covering the ink on his wrist. He can't stop looking at it, and in a way he doesn't think he could have made a better choice when he stood in front of the tattoo parlour this afternoon.

  


***

  


Louis feels a bit like a creep, standing on the opposite side of the road of the little bakery, but he wants to wait until the shop has cleared a bit. He's not sure what is going to happen in the next few minutes, but a line of people waiting behind him is probably not going to help.

He can see him, though, with his hair up in a bun and always a laugh on his lips as he chats to the customers. Louis just hopes he is right with this.

When the last person leaves the shop, Louis takes a deep breath and crosses the road. The door bell indicates to Harry that someone has entered the shop, not that he needs it. His attention is focused on Louis from the second he opens the door, and his eyes don't leave his face for a second.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” he asks without missing a beat, but his voice sounds softer than how Louis imagines it to be with every other customer.

“Harry,” Louis states simply. Testing the waters first seems like a good idea.

Harry's eyes widen at his name, and for a second his façade falls and Louis spots the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, as the other man stays silent. His fingers trail over the newly healed skin on his wrist underneath the jacket, like it has become a habit when he is feeling nervous. “How are you?”

After a second Harry rounds the corner, brushing past Louis and shutting the front door. He turns the little sign in the door, indicating to everyone outside that the shop is now closed.

“What are you doing here Louis?” he asks, turning to face Louis. His expression seems harder than Louis would like.

“I'm – I wanted to see how you are,” Louis says. It's the truth, if only partly.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me? You know it's not fair.” Harry gestures Louis to sit at one of the tables, and Louis does, suddenly feeling very small with Harry towering above him.

“Uhm,” Louis starts. This is not how he planned it to go. “I – it's been seven months, hasn't it?” he asks instead.

Harry's hard expression falls, and he sits down across Louis. “Yeah,” he says, and like the switch of a light his voice has become soft and quiet. “What are you doing here?” he repeats himself from a few seconds ago.

Louis sighs. “I wanted to ask you to go on a date with me,” he says. The words sound stupid in his mouth.

Harry's head snaps up. “Why? You broke up with me, Louis.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Sorry, this whole thing was a really stupid idea. 'M gonna go.” He's about to stand up and leave, when he feels a hand on top of his, pressing it down to the table. He sits back down again.

“And you thought you could just turn up and ask me out seven months after we broke up and everything would be fine again?” Harry asks, pulling his hand back from Louis'. “You know you're not being fair, right? It's been seven months, and I'm good again without having you in my life. And then you just turn up here and bring it all back. This is not fair Louis. I'll always remember while you get to forget.”

“Do you think I want to forget?” Louis asks, and he hopes his voice doesn't quiver. “I'm here because I don't. I don't want you to only be words in my notes, meaningless. I'm here because I want a face to the name and a voice to the words, I don't want you to be just a memory I can't remember.”

“You want me back,” Harry whispers. “You know there's a reason why you broke up with me, right?” he adds when Louis doesn't reply. “You said you wanted to give me my life back. So now you're just going to steal it from me again just because you know you can?”

“Did I take away your life?” Louis asks. Maybe he has not thought this through properly.

Harry stays quiet. “No,” he says after a while, shaking his head. “Of course you didn't. That was your point, not mine.”

“And you think I was wrong.”

“I still do,” Harry says. “I only left because you wanted me to. And because for a tiny moment I thought that maybe you were right. But in the end this was all for you, you know. All of it.”

“I fucked it all up, didn't I? Not just then, but now.”

Harry doesn't say a word. Louis clears his throat. “So about that date, I'm guessing you don't want to go, right?”

Harry's eyes are green, so very green. “I still love you, Louis,” he says. “And I want to be with you. But I don't think it's a good idea, no.”

Louis nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “I'm gonna go, if that's what you want. And I can make sure I'll never come into this bakery again. You never have to see me again, you are right, it's not fair.” And with that he pushes himself up from his chair, readjusts his sleeve from where it has moved up his arm, and leaves through the front door with a last look at Harry. He can feel him staring when he takes the few steps down the stairs leading onto the street.

He's only a few steps down the street when he hears Harry call his name.

“Tonight. Dinner at eight. I'll get you at quarter to.”

 

***

  


It's been a long time since Louis was last out to eat somewhere this fancy.

It's a proper candle light dinner, the food portions are small but there is still a lot to eat, and everything looks ridiculously expensive.

Since Harry standing on Louis' doorstep a little while earlier and them arriving here to eat, they've only exchanged a few words, but more eye contact and little smiles. It's not uncomfortable, and it's not surprising either, since neither of them really knows where they stand.

They're waiting for their food to arrive, when Harry picks up conversation for the first time.

“You got it done,” he says, gesturing to Louis' tattooed wrist.

It takes Louis a second to understand what he means, since the piece has become a part of him so quickly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I hope you don't think it's weird, that I got it done without us being together.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. You were right, it does look really good.” The soft touch of his fingertips over Louis' skin raises goosebumbs all over Louis' body. The touch is gone too quickly again.

“Greta – you know who Greta is, right?” Harry asks, and when Louis nods he continues. “She said she doesn't want to work for much longer. Her husband has a bit of money and they want to retire to France. And if they do she wants the bakery to be mine.”

“Really? That's great, Harry,” Louis says.

Harry smiles. “Yeah. It would be a whole lot of work and I'd have to hire people to help me out, but like, I'm only twenty-two and I could have a small business of my own.”

Louis wants to reach out, wants to take Harry's hand in his and tell him just how happy he is for him, wants to show everything he is feeling in this very second, but suddenly everything feels too much. Harry is right, nothing of this is fair. They need time to both figure out on their own if this could ever work out again, and just because Louis will forget it doesn't mean Harry can.

So instead he smiles, hoping it transfers at least part of his thoughts and feelings.

Their food arrives and over the small portions and a glass of wine it becomes a lot easier to keep the conversation going. It might just be because the more time they spend together the more Louis grows used to Harry and it almost seems like it all comes back. He can picture them being around one another daily, understands how the time they were together worked out despite the unusual situation. It's reassuring, that Louis knows he is right in trying to fight for Harry again, in trying to undo the mistake he made a few months ago.

Their plates are empty too fast for Louis' liking, and even after desert and some more time spent talking over the empty table, it's way too soon that Harry calls them an uber.

The way Harry tells the driver Louis' address without missing a beat reminds Louis how different their situation really is. There is Harry who knows Louis better than Louis knows himself, knows about every little detail of his last year, his habits and everything else.

And then there's Louis, who basically knows only the Harry here in front of him, right in this moment.

Even though Louis has read over every single word ever written about Harry this morning before he went to the bakery earlier, it's still not enough. Not in comparison to Harry, at least.

The uber stops in front of Louis' flat, and Harry sends the driver on his way.

“'M gonna walk home from here,” he says, quietly, because suddenly they're standing so close to one another there is no point for more volume.

“Thank you,” Louis says, equally as quiet. “For tonight, for agreeing to this.”

“Lou,” Harry says, and he grabs both of Louis' wrists. “I enjoyed tonight a lot, I really did. But I still don't know where this is supposed to take us.”

Louis nods slowly. “Can I give you a hug?” he asks, and a second later he has an armful of Harry, and he is pressed against the other boy's chest and held close, as if neither of them ever intends to let go. Louis doesn't, not for this moment at least.

Then the warmth is gone again, and the distance between them is bigger than before.

“I need time, Lou. Okay?” When Louis voices his agreement, Harry raises his hand, almost as if he's reaching out for Louis' face. He stops mid-air, though. “Goodnight Lou,” he says instead, and then he's on his way, walking down the almost empty street, disappearing into the darkness.

  


***

  


It's the sound of someone relentlessy ringing the doorbell that rips Louis from sleep.

First he's met with general confusion of his whereabouts, because nothing that surrounds him feels familiar. He has to postpone his thoughts, though, because the shrill noise coming from somewhere else keeps Louis from thinking one thing straight at a time.

He opens the door more confused than he's ever been, even more so when there's a guy standing in the hallway of the building, extending his hands and pressing a small bouquet of flowers into Louis' hands.

When Louis does nothing but stay silent the man's expression shifts from slightly uncomfortable but determined to concerned.

“Have you just woken up?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding slowly. His hands tighten around the flowers. He's not sure if he should say thanks and shut the door in the strangers face to figure out what the hell is going on, or if he should throw them at his face and make a run down the stairs. Because the longer he stands at this door, the more awake he gets, the more surreal the whole situation feels.

“I – shit,” the guy says. Not helping. “It's noon, I thought – I'm Harry,” he says, extending his hand to shake Louis'. “You probably have a lot of questions, don't you? I could explain it all to you -.”

“What the hell is going on,” Louis brings out. With the way the guy – Harry – suddenly acts around Louis, all fidgety hands and nervous glances, Louis figures he really doesn't have to expect to be kidnapped or murdered or robbed by him. Not that he looks like the typical serial killer anyway.

Half an hour later Louis knows exactly what is going on, but a part of him hopes he wouldn't. It gives him a headache.

Harry on the other hand seems like an absolute saint. After he has explained the situation to Louis to his best ability and made sure Louis was comfortable enough with having him around, he has made him not only tea but a full on breakfast.

Louis watches as he moves around a kitchen Louis has never seen before as if it were his own.

“And who are you?” Louis asks. It feels a bit bluntly, but really, it's a justified question.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” Harry says, and there's a smirk on his face as he toasts some bread.

“And what are you doing here?” Louis asks, without missing a beat.

“Well a few months back you broke up with me and a week ago you were standing in front of me saying you wanted me back. And here I am, making you breakfast as if nothing has changed.” Harry sighs. “It all sounds a bit stupid, doesn't it?”

“Stupid is not quite the word I would have used,” Louis says.

“Sad maybe? That I'm coming back to you at the snip of your fingers?”

“No. Is that what happened, though?”

Harry shakes his head. “I would've never left if I didn't think it was what you wanted. And I think you truly did at the time.”

“Then why would you call it stupid or sad?”

“What would you call it?”

Good question. Thinking like an outsider, and Louis kind of thinks he is, it seems more like love to him. The big word. Careless, maybe, in regards of Harry's feelings and the potential of being dissapointed again, but Louis doubts Harry has showed up on his doorstep without having this thought through properly.

Louis ignores the question. “You are sure about all of this, though, right?”

Harry places all of the food on the table. The smell makes Louis' mouth water. “Lou,” he says. “I was sure about this in the first few months of our relationship. I was still sure it was what I wanted when you broke up with me and I have been ever since. It's not easy, I know that. I've had my few share of days where I had to think twice about everything, but never a third time. I know it doesn't feel like it to you, but I've been in all of this for quite a while and I had my time to think.”

Louis tilts his head. There are a million questions going through his head. He decides on one for now. “Why, though? How is it worth it?”

Harry reaches across the table. His fingers trail over the tattoo on Louis' wrist he doesn't recall getting. He huffs out a laugh. “To be honest, I don't know. I could say it's because I love you, and that probably is the reason. I never knew it could be this strong, though.” His voice is getting quiet. “Like it doesn't even feel real at times and it scares the shit out of me.”

Harry let's his fingers trail further up Louis' arm, and when he almost reaches his elbow he lets his arm rest there. Their wrists line up and, oh. _Oh._

“Thanks for the flowers,” Louis whispers.

  


***

  


“Harry?”

Harry turns his head as Louis calls his name, and once Louis knows he has his attention it is easy to slip next to him into the small spot on the sofa, closer than Louis thought he would feel comfortable with.

“What is it, love?”

Louis fumbles with his fingers. “There is a thing you don't know about me,” Louis says.

There's a small laugh coming from Harry. “I know a lot of things about you.”

Louis tilts his head. “Not this one, though. In the last few months I had a few more doctor's appointments than usual.”

Louis can feel Harry freeze beside him, and his expression turns from a soft laugh to concerned in a millisecond. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis is quick to reassure him. “There this study. Like a medical trial for patients with a similar diagnosis to mine.”

Harry nods slowly.

“Harry. It might be a chance for a cure.”

Harry moves slowly but with intend. His fingers close around Louis' and his grip is tight. “Lou. Please, tell me everything there is to know.”

And Louis does. He tells him all about the things he knows, the risks of the surgery and the possible outcomes.

“The phone call just now?” he says, “that was my doctor. He got the results back and I'm a perfect candidate. Everything is pointing in the direction that I could have the best possible outcome. That is if I don't die on the table.”

Louis can see tears forming in Harry's eyes, and they quickly spill over to cover his cheeks in the liquid. “Louis,” he says simply, before wrapping his arms around Louis' neck and pressing him close into a hug. He holds on so tight Louis thinks there might be bruises, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when Harry is warm and smells like spring and he is crying and shaking over the news Louis told him because he loves him just so much.

“And you want to do it?” Harry asks after a little while, still holding onto Louis for dear life.

“I think so,” Louis mumbles into the crook of Harry's neck. “Like there are risks and everything and to be honest the thought of it kinda scares me. But I think I want to try. It'd be stupid not to, wouldn't it?”

Harry unwraps his arms from Louis and rests his forehead against Louis' instead. “Not stupid. I'd much rather have you the way you are now then not have you at all. Your condition is not the worst in the world. But I'm glad you want to try,” he adds, whispering.

Louis nods. “I had a few months to think about it to the best of my abilities, and I'm getting so tired of forgetting.”

Harry kisses the corner of Louis' mouth softly. “You do know, though, that even if it doesn't work I'm still gonna stay, right? You're not gonna get rid of me again.”

Louis chuckles. “I figured. And I want you to stay.”

“Good,” Harry says, capturing Louis' lips between his own. “Because I'm not gonna go anywhere.” He kisses Louis with intent, and only after a while they break apart again, somewheat breathless.

“I'd like to talk to your doctor, though,” Harry says. “Just to be informed about everything. Would that be okay for you?”

Louis nods. “Sure. You can come with me to my next appointment if you want.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, and then his lips are on Louis' again. He doesn't seem to ever get tired of kissing Louis, not that Louis minds. Kissing Harry has become one of his favourite activites in the last few hours. He is definitely not going to complain.

  


***

  


Louis hates hospitals, he decides.

The room he has been assigned to is painted in a yellow colour that is probably supposed to look warm and sunny but reminds Louis of pee.

There are also needles in his arm and he hasn't eaten all day.

On the positive side, though, the bed is adjustable and surpisingly comfortable. And Harry sitting by his side as a handful of doctors and nurses explain the procedure to him isn't too bad either.

To be honest Louis doesn't understand half of what he is being told, but then again everthing surrounding this day is confusing.

When he woke up this morning he had no idea where he was or what was going on, and it had taken him quite a while to figure it all out.

It only added to his confusion when there was suddenly a man standing in his doorway, claiming to be Louis' boyfriend and being there to bring him to the hospital. Because apparently this was the day it could all be over.

Louis' mother had called and promised to visit him after the surgery, and every single one of his siblings had wished him good luck. Even Doris and Ernest had, little voices babbling slighty incoherently.

Even Niall and a guy named Liam had called, and now that Louis is lying in his hospital bed with the pee-coloured walls he thinks he couldn't feel more loved.

When Harry gets something to eat around midday, and Louis is left with a grumbling stomach, he absentmindedly scrolls through the pictures on his phone.

It's only then that he realises how much time has really went by in the last six years. And it's only then that his stomach turns itself over at the realisation that this could be over today. Everything feels so surreal suddenly, since Louis has only learned about his life this morning and now it's supposed to change all over again.

Or so Louis hopes.

Because like the doctor explained earlier there is a chance the procedure couldn't work at all. Louis doesn't even want to imagine what kind of devestation that would be for him and his family. Mostly for Harry, though.

Harry returns from his meal shortly after, grinning as he peaks into the room.

“Got something for you,” he says, revealing what he is hiding behind his back.

Minutes later there are three sunflowers propped on the bedside table.

“One hour left,” Harry says, sitting on a chair close to Louis' bed.

“Cuddle?” Louis asks, opening his arms and inviting Harry onto the bed. There is not enough space for the two of them to really make it comfortable, but the warmth of Harry's body squeezed beside his calms Louis' racing heart. One hour. He is getting nervous.

“What if I die,” he whispers into Harry's chest.

“Don't say that,” Harry replies instantly. “You're not going to.”

“There is a chance I could.”

Harry hums. “Just like there is a chance to get hit by a car on the way to the grocery store. Lou,” he says, tilting Louis' head and making sure Louis is looking at him. “You'll be perfectly fine,” he says. “You'll wake up and everything will be alright. More than alright, even. You'll wake up and you'll be able to remember.”

“What if I won't?”

“Then that's okay too. I'll still be by your side and it'll be just like always.”

“I'm sick of always,” Louis says.

Harry kisses him softly. “I'm not. And I'm telling you, your doctor wouldn't have advised you to do the procedure if he didn't think it would work.”

Louis nods slowly. “Thanks for the flowers,” he says. “They're beautiful.”

Harry smiles. There are dimples in his cheeks Louis hasn't seen before. He can't help but reach out and caress Harry's cheek with his thumb. Harry's smile widens only more.

“I love you, do you know that?” Harry asks.

Louis hums. He doesn't, but he kind of figured.

Instead of answering, though, he tangles his fingers in Harry's hair and brings their mouths together. Their lips move against each other lazily, tongues moving languidly but Louis' stomach flutters nonetheless. There is no goal besides kissing just for its own sake, nothing intended but being with each other and feeling the other's body besides the own.

It's a kiss that speaks of familarity and trust, of long term and forever. Louis hopes it is.

The hour passes too quick and not fast enough at the same time, and suddenly there are nurses in his room again, preparing Louis to go into surgery.

And it's too fast when Harry kisses Louis softly one last time when he is not allowed to go any further and Louis' bed is pushed through a double door and further down the hall.

And then there's the doctor greeting him, smiling down on him and there's a mask over Louis' face and he is intstructed to count down from ten.

There's the ten, nine, eight, seven, and then it's black.

All black, nothing to hear or see. Nothing to feel.

  


***

  


It's black.

There's the distant noise of a machine beeping. It's regular and rythmic, calming somehow. There is something tickling in Louis throat, and there's a dull pain in his head. There are voices.

It's cloudy.

“Mr Styles?”

“Harry, please.”

A chuckle.

A soft voice. “Have you slept at all, Harry?”

“No. I want to be there when he wakes up.”

“His parents left?”

“Yeah. They had to go home.”

“It could be hours until we know more.”

“I know.” Exhausted. “I won't sleep, though.”

“Okay. Have you eaten at least? Had some water?”

“I'm fine.”

Silence.

“We'll only know when he wakes up, right? _If_ he wakes up.”

More silence. Then quietly, “That's what the doctor said.”

“It's been two days.”

“Harry. Give him some time.”

A touch on Louis' hand. A whisper. “All the time he needs.”

The voices fade away. Darkness.

  


***

  


Louis chokes.

There is something in the back of his throat. It feels inherently wrong.

“Louis? Lou?”

Louis' eyes trail through the room, confused until he finds the person who has spoken. There are clouds in his brain.

“He's awake. He's awake,” the voice gets louder.

“Lou, it's alright, hey,” the voice says, and the face comes closer. There are tears. There's a hand stroking his cheek. “Oh Louis, thank god.”

More people fill into the room, one after another but Louis' eyes are fixed on the person in front of him. Green eyes, full of love.

Seconds later there a scratch in his throat and then it's gone. A deep breath.

“Louis? How are you feeling, love?”

Louis' hand twitches. Immediately there are fingers to clasp his own, and Louis squeezes to respond to the touch.

He wants to talk, but his voice feels hoarse.

“Ha -,” he starts, voice breaking. He tries again. “Harry,” he brings out with all the strength he has.

The green eyes, Harry's eyes, fill with tears again. “You remember?”

“Harry,” Louis says one more time, because it's the only thing he can bring out in this moment. And he likes the effect this one particular name has. “Harry.” It feels good on his tongue.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks one more time.

“Good,” Louis says. The word doesn't come out as clear as he would like. He squeezes Harry's hand instead.

He closes his eyes when he feels Harry's lips on his forehead. “You're alright,” Harry repeats, and it sounds like a mantra. “You're alright, you're alright, you're alright.”

“Harry,” Louis says. His voice is more of a rasp. “Where are my sunflowers?”

“Your what?” Harry asks, looking confused.

“My sunflowers,” Louis tries again, and with every word he speaks his voice becomes clearer.

When Harry finally seems to understand a smile takes over his entire face. “They didn't allow them in here,” he whispers. “You're in ICU. Nothing allowed that would make people happy.”

“You're here,” Louis says.

Harry raises Louis' hand, kissing his knuckles. “You're such a sap.”

A little while later there is a doctor asking Louis to follow a light with his eyes, pronounce different words and name everyday objects. The bandage around his head gets changed and he has to complete various tasks testing his motoric skills.

“Did I pass?” Louis asks, when the young doctor – she can't be out of med school for long – makes notes in his file. She nods with a smile. “It's all looking good so far,” she says. “We'll have to wait and see but the fact that you remember things from the day of the procedure looks promising.”

Louis grins. “I did good,” he says, turning his head towards Harry. He only then spots the exhaustion on Harry's face.

“Why don't you go home for a bit,” he says. “Didn't my mum call earlier and said she would come over? You should get some sleep and food and a shower.”

Harry's eyes look uncertain, but he nods slowly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Louis insists. “I'll be just fine.”

  


***

  


Morning light wakes Louis as it trickles into the room.

The bedsheets feel soft underneath Louis' touch and it smells like summer when Louis takes a breath.

It also smells like man, a personal smell Louis recognises without a second thought.

There's a man in his bed, curls spread around his head like a halo and Louis can hear him breathing from where he's cuddled close to his face.

“Good morning,” he says softly when the other man opens his eyes. Louis lets his fingers wander over his facial features, his sharp jawline and cheekbones, the curve of his lips.

Harry's expression is soft from the moment he opens his eyes. “Morning,” he says, voice raspy. He huffs out a breath when Louis rolls on top of him.

Louis isn't quite sure when he has turned into a morning person, because at nineteen he woud have never woken up before noon on a weekend. At twenty-five, though, he can't imagine sleeping for half of the day. It seems like a waste of time when he can instead cuddle with Harry until he wakes up, prepare breakfast for when Harry comes back from work or spend the whole day with his family. Why should he sleep when he can make memories instead.

Without any barrier of clothes between the two of them Louis can feel Harry's soft skin everywhere their skin touches.

Louis pecks a quick kiss to Harry's lips before lying down on his chest. Harry's fingers find their way into Louis' hair, playing with it absentmindedly. His other hand is lying flat on the mattress, though, and Louis interlocks their fingers, smiling as the rope and the anchor line up.

“Breakfast?” Harry asks after quite a while, when Louis' stomach grumbles loudly.

“That's highly unsanitary,” Louis says twenty minutes later, when Harry is standing in his kitchen as naked as the day he was born, toasting some bread and heating a pan on the stove.

“You had my dick in your mouth last night,” Harry states, and yeah, he is right with that one.

Louis rolls his eyes, but when he passes Harry to get mugs out of the cupboard he pinches Harry's naked butt.

Harry squeaks at the unexpected action. “Heey,” he says, drawing the word out.

“Really Haz, you should have seen that one coming,” Louis says as he takes two mugs out of the cupboard over his head. He sets the table ready for them to eat while Harry finishes the cooking.

Later when Louis is doing the washing up and Harry has stored the rest of the food in the fridge, Harry comes up behind Louis, hooking his chin over Louis' shoulder.

“M' gonna go shower,” he says before kissing Louis' temple. He presses his body close to Louis', and Louis can feel every part of Harry against his body. It's nice, close and intimate.

Louis brushes his teeth while Harry showers, and they swap once Harry is finished. Seeing Harry all naked and wet is always tempting but after their first – and last – attempt of shower sex when they almost fell and broke all of their bones Louis likes to keep his showers to himself. It was hot, though. Louis smirks at the memory.

Once Louis is getting dressed, though, Harry doesn't seem to be able to keep his fingers to himself.

“Don't,” he says, when Louis steps into his boxer briefs.

“Don't what?” Louis asks, turning to face Harry.

“Don't get dressed just yet,” Harry murmurs, closing the distance between them and running his hands down Louis' neck. “We have time.”

Louis tilts his head. “We just got out of the shower,” he says, but he doesn't really mind Harry's hands trailing down his back.

“We'll have to keep it clean then,” Harry says, and he gently bites down just above Louis' collarbone, adding a new mark to the already fading ones.

“God, you're a vampire,” Louis groans, but he leans into the touch. There's a reason his body never seems to be free of marks.

Harry spreads his hands over Louis bum and then over his thighs, lifting Louis up just like that. He walks into the general direction of the bed before he lets Louis down again without ever stopping to kiss and suck down his neck.

They lazily rut against the other like they have all the time in the world, and in a way they have.

It's only when Harry wraps his hand around both their cocks at once that Louis feels the blood rushing to his groin, filling his half-hard cock up more and more.

“I wanna try something,” Harry says against Louis' lips in between kisses. “We've never done this before, though, not once.”

“What is it?” Louis asks. He is not sure what Harry is hinting at although he does have an idea.

“Let me eat you out,” Harry says simply.

Louis' breath is shaking as he fills his lungs.

“Yeah,” he breathes, trying not to moan at the thought only.

Harry smirks, and then he's moving down Louis' body, licking over his nipples and he pushes Louis' legs up to his chest to give him better access.

Louis has had Harry's fingers up his ass countless times, has been fucked until he could only barely walk the next day. The first contact of Harry's tongue to his rim is something completely different, though.

The little licks and flicks are almost too much, sometimes light like they're barely there and then strong the next time when Harry pushes his tongue inside Louis' hole.

The moans fall from Louis' lips without him realising, and after only a few minutes he is rock hard and wiggling under Harry's touch.

He comes with a sob, and he would be embarassed but he can't. There's no place in his mind for a single emotion beside the lust and desire he has for Harry, the pleasure running through his body when he spills all over his stomach.

He is panting when Harry is face to face with him again.

There's a clean and only slighty musky taste on Harry's tongue as they kiss, and Louis is kind of glad he had a proper shower before this.

Louis reaches between their bodies, and on a second thought he wraps his hand around Harry's neglected cock and presses it against his stomach.

Harry catches on quickly, and then he's fucking himself against Louis' stomach, movements easy with Louis' come working as a lubricant. His come mixes with Louis' own when he reaches his orgasm, and he collapses on top of Louis, smearing it between their bodies.

“So much to keeping it clean,” Louis says, causing Harry to giggle.

Louis thinks he'll never stop being endeared by this boy, how he giggles like a little child with dimples in his cheeks and a wide smile, how he manages to be sexy and hot the same time as cute and soft.

“I love you, you know,” Louis says, because he feels like letting Harry know. It doesn't feel like the words are enough, though. There is so much more, feelings and thoughts words can't and never will be able to describe. “So much.”

It's not the first time he says those words, nor is it the first time he says them to Harry, but just like every time they are directed at Harry it's truly and one hundred percent what he means.

“Love you too,” Harry whispers. He places a soft kiss in the crook of Louis' neck, just where his head is resting.

“I'm going to go down to the bakery in a bit,” Harry says after a while, curling his fingers into Louis' hair. “Have to check how Amélie is getting along.”

Louis remembers it clearly, the day Greta handed over her keys to Harry. Figuratively speaking. He and Harry might have celebrated with lots of cake and sex.

There were days where everything was almost getting too much to handle for Harry, and he would break down in Louis' arms complaining that it was all getting too much. Then Harry had found two new employees, Amélie and Brian, and everything turned to the positive side again.

Two months after Louis' surgery he had applied to university again and was now looking forward to starting later this year.

In a way it feels like he is continuing his life where he left off but at the same time it couldn't be more different.

He has lost six years and he knows they will never come back. And he's not a nineteen year old boy anymore.

He is twenty-five, and there's a beautiful man by his side. He is twenty-five and he has his family behind his back and he can see his siblings grow up. He is twenty-five and one day he will have kids of his own. One day he is going to marry the love of his life, one day in the future. And when he's old and sitting on a chair in the backyard with Harry by his side, their grandchildren playing around them, he will have thousands and millions of memories to look back on.

And he will remember the days when every touch was sending shivers down his spine, and the days when being with Harry turned into home. When they said _'I do'_ and when they danced through the whole night. When they heard their first child's laugh for the first time and being woken up by a little body cuddled between them. When their oldest daughter brought her first boyfriend home and the day she moved out. The day she showed up with a ring on her finger and when her stomach was getting rounder.

He will remember their family vacations and nights filled with sweat and sex, the kisses in the morning and the ones goodnight.

And he will smile, sitting there on his chair in the backyard. And he will reach out to take Harry's hand in his. And the anchor and the rope will complete each other.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave your thoughts and comments, I'd love to read what you think :) also follow me on tumblr at mikkefic


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